The X-Men: Exodus
by sofakingwhat
Summary: When a bleak ultimatum tests the X-Men's faith in Xavier's dream, the Red team (Cyclops, Phoenix, Gambit, Rogue, Psylocke) Gold team (Storm, Wolverine, Nightcrawler, Colossus, Shadowkat) and Blue team (Bishop, Emma Frost, Beast, Archangel, Iceman, Jubilee) are forced to make a choice: abandon their dream or be destroyed by it.
1. Chapter 1

Uncanny X-Men #1: Chapter 1

 **Blackbird**

Swollen, ebon clouds cloaked the Blackbird. Its sleek wings hid in the darkened sky, indistinguishable in the misty rain.

Hank Mccoy shuffled in his seat. One furry, apish hand held the pilot controls. The other, his chin.

Something had to be said.

Hank's lips parted. The musk of his teammates' dried blood and nervous sweat filled his blue nostrils.

Something had to be said right now.

But…

Hank clenched his teeth. His jaw snapped shut like a prison door.

…Was Hank the one to say it?

The dull glow of the Blackbird's cabin bathed his majestic blue fur in a muted red tint.

And even if he was, even if it fell on him, how would he say it?

Betsy stared vacantly out the window. Sumerian poetry was easier to read than her. Hank knew. He tried.

Warren was the lone X-Man standing. He paced angrily back and forth. His metallic wings dragged behind him, scratching the Blackbird's steel floor. His face balled up like a catcher's mitt.

Maybe "angry" wasn't the word. Hank knew when Warren Worthington was angry. Which was always.

No. The way he kept stomping around, going in circles, Beast had seen Warren do that all too many times when they were part of X-Factor. Warren was mad at himself. Only for the millionth time.

Hank loved Warren, but he didn't always agree with him. Or ever really. But this time, Hank couldn't help but agree.

They should be mad at themselves. At least a little.

Bobby sat quietly in the back, amusing himself with miniature ice sculptures of a bear and a bull in his hands.

Wait.

Bobby?

Quiet?

Yep. Things were pretty damn tense. Mr. Robert Drake was about as good a litmus test as there was for how well a mission went. Hank's best friend did one of two things on rides home. And unless Beast suddenly switched powers with Sunfire, there wasn't a streak of ice under his seat.

Then there was Emma. His copilot. Or more aptly, she was in the copilot seat next to him. A smug grin froze on her face so coldly it was like she co-opted Iceman's powers again. She looked like she was psychically a million miles away. Dreaming. Scheming. His kingdom to know what she would deem interesting enough to occupy her time.

Actually, on second thought, he took that back. If a box says Pandora on it, put the proverbial crowbar down.

Hank really didn't have anything bad to say about her, or anyone for that matter. Life was too short to throw shade on anyone or anything. Life was a test and people were a Rorschach. It was all how you looked at it.

But…but, but, but, but…

If there was one thing Beast hated. No. He didn't like that word. Hated it. If there was one thing Hank disliked. Er, no, still no good. Um, if there was one thing Beast would maybe change if he had his way, which he didn't so it was a moot point, but if he could change one thing it would be how easily telepaths could learn how to master things.

Hank loved science. Loved it like it would hug and kiss him back. But just because he was passionate about it, people always assumed, wrongly, his mastery of it simply came to him. As if one day he decided he would be a geneticist and boom, a lifetime of research magically popped into his head. Like he was born knowing everything.

Everyone just assumed it was so easy to be him. Well Hank knew something no one else knew or cared about. He worked hard for everything he accomplished. No one handed him anything in his life. He fought for his education and respect, a fight he went through on a daily basis. He spent decades studying and researching while everyone else was out partying and joking to achieve everything he has.

But Emma, well she's a telepath. She's entitled to everything. Don't agree? Just ask her. She can just plop down in the cockpit, telepathically glean how to fly a plane, jet, helicopter, space shuttle, whatever, and she's an expert just like that.

Hank rubbed his eyes. He didn't mean any of that. Emma was cool. She was his friend. She'd always help him style his hair whenever he would go out on the town. Ok, that one time. But she was still cool about it. God, he really needed to get out more.

He was stressed. They all were. Not one word had been uttered since they boarded. During the protests? Not so much. A lot of things came out that he was sure they all would like a mulligan on.

It wasn't their fault though. They were X-Men. It was the nature of the beast. Sometimes bad things happened. Came with the territory. He just wasn't sure they all accepted it.

Beast sat up in his chair. The mansion was only another thirty minutes away. The worst thing he could do was let this linger. Hard feelings festered in the mansion like cockroaches. Spreading through the walls, hidden in the shadows. Growing. Multiplying.

He needed to speak up. Lord, how many times had he said that to himself over the years? Imagine if it was a drinking game…his poor liver.

What to say?

A joke maybe?

Bobby could diffuse the tension just like that. If he wanted. Clearly that was not the case. Besides, there was a time for jokes and a time for real talk.

Maybe something from the heart?

Ororo would whip up something inspirational to uplift everyone's spirits. The gentlest winds can shake the deepest roots. He'd seen it. That woman could say the most innocuous cliché with enough conviction to make them all want to run head first through a brick wall. Now that's a mutant power.

If Beast said something like that, he could just imagine snarky Emma rolling her eyes at him. She'd give him that, don't be dramatic, glance, then tussle her platinum hair.

"I…" Hank began, then awkwardly cleared his throat, "…ahem, pardon me…just a little parched. Remind me to give the stewardess a raise."

Hank held his breath ever so slightly. Waiting for a reply. A chuckle. A heckle. Anything. The drone of the engine spoke for the other four X-Men instead.

 _Never change, dear,_ Emma telepathically said.

 _Thanks…_ Hank subtly exhaled and slumped back into his chair.

 _Anytime._

"His name was Mark Ferguson," Warren blurted out, "It's always the same, everywhere we go… it's like just the sight of us is enough for everyone to lose their minds and want to kill each other."

"I think you mean this time at that specific place," Betsy said. Her strict tone was as much to make her point as it was to reign Warren in.

Warren glanced at her, his blue steel eyes lancing across the jet. "You don't get it. And judging by the silence for the past hour I'd say no one here does."

Hank could feel Warren's eyes cut into his back. It was like his pilot's chair was made out of paper Mache.

"God…a kid died today," Warren's voice lowered, "I know, I know, you all feel just terrible and no one wants to talk about it. But does anyone for a second care _why_ it happened? Why it _keeps_ happening?"

"Warren, we did everything we could," Beast said, his subdued tone smothered by the hum of the engine.

"Say again, Hank," Warren said.

"…We did everything we could," Beast spoke up.

Warren stopped pacing.

"Henry's right. It's part of the job. You do your best but sometimes you come up short. That's life," Betsy said.

"Our lives at least," Bobby mumbled from the back of the jet.

"I understand how you must feel…" Hank turned in his seat to face Warren, "We've all been there. For better or worse. An X-Men merit badge as Betsy alluded. But it wasn't your fault," Hank said.

"I know," Warren said.

"And I believe that's Mr. Worthington the third's point, isn't it dear? That this is all symptomatic of a much larger issue?" Emma jumped into the conversation.

"I honestly forgot you were here," Betsy said.

"Symphony ended early. You now have my undivided attention," Emma said.

"Halleluiah," Bobby sarcastically said.

"…Kid was only fifteen," Warren said and leaned his elbows on the back of Hank's chair, "doing an unarmed protest in front of some stupid restaurant in the middle of the day. We show up and now his Mom and Dad have to put their son in the ground."

"What should we have done then?" Betsy said, "Just rush in and start attacking everyone?"

"Sadly that seems precisely what each side wanted us to do," Hank said.

"I still don't even really know what happened, and I was there," Bobby said.

"It's quite simple. Or should have been. The moment the protestors started getting too…spirited, we should have neutralized them," Emma said.

"Do you have any idea how insane that sounds? Those kids had a right to protest those bigots," Betsy said.

"We might not like it, but businesses reserve the right to refuse anyone. You've heard of no shoes no service? It's for health concerns. The same if you're a mutant with the power to release spore toxins. Frankly fungus is bad for business. It doesn't mean the owner is a bigot," Emma said.

"In all due fairness," Hank said, "As the boy himself told us, that wasn't a particular concern for the owner with his previous pizza store."

"Yeah, wasn't the kid like his best customer for years? Probably his money that paid for most of the owner's swanky new Italian bistro in boushie Alexandria," Bobby said.

"And suddenly he's too good to serve mutants now that he's moved on up to an affluent human neighborhood," Warren said.

"Happening a lot these days," Betsy said.

"Oh please. Listen to yourselves. Everything always happens to be a personal attack with you people." Emma stood up. "It's business. Cold. Hard. Dollars and cents. How many of those children that ate at that dingy old pizza place do you think would sue if they found some mold on or around their food? Alright. Now tell me how many of those insufferable hypochondriac yuppies in Alexandria would sue? If you ran a business, would you really take a chance letting a person who, let's face it, is walking fungus, in your restaurant?" Emma said.

"What did you see when you looked in the owner's mind?" Beast asked.

He paused. "…Is he a racist?"

"Henry. Sweet, sweet, Henry. _No one_ thinks they are racist," Emma replied.

"They think they're right," Betsy said.

"Man, I know time travel sucks but this's one of those days I wish we could get back," Bobby said.

"We could replay today a thousand times and it would play out the exact same way." Warren's eyes burned like a lit cigarette. "You saw the way the cops looked at us. They were relieved. Mutant superheroes here to clean up mutant riot. We're mops and dustpans to them. And the protestors, they were just as bad. They looked at us like the Calvary arrived and we'd gloriously lead them in battle against everyone."

"Didn't take long for the mood to change from an unarmed demonstration to a bloody riot," Betsy added.

"I'm telling you, when people see the X-Men, something about us, I don't know, humans, mutants, it doesn't matter. They see us and the switch goes on and they want to kill each other," Warren said.

"Back to the image inducer, Hank," Bobby said.

Hank gave a labored half smile. Bless Bobby, he was trying. But the chance to diffuse the tension had long since passed.

Mark Ferguson's last minutes on Earth kept repeating in Hank's mind. Why, why in blazes did the kid have to shove Warren? The cops warned him over and over not to move.

Hank's toes curled. His sharp nails scraped against the floor. They should've made it clearer they were on the boy's side. They should've done a better job protecting him instead of trying to calm him down.

But they just didn't know. They needed to gather more information is all. That's it. The last thing they wanted was to rush in without knowing the full story and risk hurting someone.

Ha.

Epitaph of an X-Man. "We didn't want anyone to get hurt." Mark had so much rage and desperation and…and betrayal in his eyes. The whole world was turning against him. And it was like, if the X-Men weren't with him then he was alone.

Hank could still hear what would be Mark's last words ring in his ear. _Ya'll a buncha sellouts! Puppets!_

Then he shoved Warren. Warren's stunned expression said it all. It was like Mark's palms tore through Warren's chest and yanked his heart out. Once one of the officers saw Mark's sickly green hand hit Warren…

Officer must have panicked.

Yeah.

Warren sighed. "I'm just tired, you know? Aren't you guys tired of always being on defense? We never have enough Intel. We're never prepared. We go into these things dumb, deaf, and blind trying to play catchup and make chicken salad out of chicken you know what. And we do. We do time and time again and succeed against all odds and maybe that's the worst thing that could happen. Because we've gotten so good at working with nothing that being an X-Man has turned into trying to always make the best of unwinnable situations. We should be so much more than that. We're just, I don't know…glorified band aids."

Betsy stood up and rubbed Warren's shoulders. Been awhile since Hank saw her and Warren that way. It wasn't the same touch she'd give Warren when they were an item.

No, no, no, Hank remembered being far more uncomfortable walking in on them in the kitchen. Lawn. Hall. Those were much different. Well. Kind of. This wasn't a passionate rub. But just as loving.

"I don't know. I guess I just need to sleep it off." Warren gently smiled and nodded at Betsy.

"I think that's one thing we can all agree on," Hank said, "We could all use a nice peaceful-"

Thunderous shockwaves crashed against the Blackbird. The mighty jet shook like a paddle boat in a tsunami.

Hank's head slammed against the back of his headrest. Warren and Betsy were flung off their feet and tumbled to the back of the jet.

"Bets!" Warren yelled.

A flash of golden light washed over the sky. The darkened clouds vanished. Blinding waves of light bathed the cabin in brilliant strobes.

Hank sneered, his powerful hands grabbed the controls and tried to maneuver out of the turbulence.

A psychic assault? Couldn't be. Emma would have detected it already instead of gripping her seatbelt like a startled cat. He jerked the controls up. Left. Right. Down.

No response.

"Oh, dear…" Hank muttered.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

 **Westchester, New York. Xavier School for Gifted Youngsters. Kitchen.**

Shrill alarm beeps screeched through the Mansion.

Peter Rasputin scrambled to his feet. He sprang forward. His powerful stride cut through the smoke around him.

"Hurry, Peter!" Kurt Wagner yelled with a tiny smirk.

Peter wound back his skillet-sized open palm.

"Do not worry, friends, I shall take care of it," Peter said.

With a mighty swat, Peter's right hand whooshed through the air.

"Faster, big guy! I can't take anymore!" Jubilee squeezed her hands over her ears.

Peter cocked his arm back a second time. His bare hands had tamed the permafrost of a Russian collective. The Brotherhood. The Brood. The Phalanx.

There was no way in hell Peter Rasputin would be beaten by a damn smoke detector.

Peter fanned the smoke detector like a Hebrew slave. His thick fingertips were millimeters from the little plastic sphere on the wall. It's tiny, blinking slit of light was like a green grin with a blaring laugh every two seconds.

"Ya big dummy," Kitty Pryde chided, "It's not gonna stop until, y'know, you get rid of what's causing the smoke."

"Hard'a hearin', Remy?" Rogue reached behind Gambit and shut off the oven.

The alarm stopped.

"Chere!" Gambit said.

He rushed to turn the oven back on. Rogue blocked him.

"Uh, uh," Rogue teased.

"You do not mess wit' a master chef an' deir accoutrements!" Gambit said.

"Ah know. S'why ah never bother Jean when she's cookin'." Rogue smirked.

"Jean! Mon dieu!" Gambit started hyperventilating and patted his white chef hat. "…Dat like comparin'…Toad ta Magneto!"

"Use a shovel gumbo, it's easier!" Jubilee chirped from the kitchen table.

"So do all tha master chef's almost burn down the whole dern kitchen makin'…whateva it is y'all was makin', or just you?" Rogue said.

"Gambit have perfect palate. 'Mong other t'ings…" Gambit grinned, "…His cookin' more sophisticated den makin' jus', Eggo."

"Sophisticated?" Peter returned to his seat at the kitchen table. "I am sorry. My English is not always perfect. I thought the word indicated…classy."

"Ha!" Rogue laughed.

"It do. And so do Gambit," Gambit said.

Rogue and Peter exchanged glances. Then burst out into more laughter with Jubilee and Kurt joining.

"E'ryone t'ink dey a Johnny Carson," Gambit mumbled.

"Ah, Remy, look at it this way. Laughter sounds much preferable to that wretched ala-…" Kurt said.

The smoke detector roared to life again.

"Ugh!" Kitty groaned.

Kitty shot a death stare at Logan standing at the kitchen door. Then at his cigar. She phased from her chair through the kitchen table and snatched his stogie out his mouth.

Wolverine didn't say a word. His face did all the talking. He scowled at her like she cussed in church.

Kitty pouted and batted her eyes at her grisly old teddy bear. "Please and thank you," she said and put out his cigar.

Smoke wasn't coming from his cigar anymore but it was definitely coming out his ears. Lots of it.

Wolverine shrugged and pulled up a chair at the kitchen table next to Jubilation.

"…When'd we get so many flamin' smoke detectors around here?" Wolverine grumbled.

"Yeah, I don't know what to make of these new-fangled smoke detector things…" Jubilee nudged him, "…My day we didn't need someone to tell us there was a fire. We could tell from the cows running."

"Don't push it, kid," Wolverine said and glared at Jubilee and Kitty, "the both of you ain't as cute as you think."

"We know you love us, Wolvie," Jubilee said.

"And we are as cute as we think." Kitty smirked.

She glanced at her boyfriend, Peter. He wasn't nodding.

"Right, Peter!" She elbowed Colossus.

"Of course, Kitten. Anything you say I am in agreement with," Peter said.

"Ah, impressive, Kitty. You know Amanda's looking to adopt a dog. Can you refer us to the same spaying and neutering place you took heir Peter?" Kurt said.

"I'll give you their card," Kitty said.

"Katya, please!" Peter said, "Kurt, I assure you. My…" Peter blushed, "…er, Jubilee, help me. I am not good with euphemisms."

"Spauldings," Jubilee said.

"My…Spauldings…are exactly where they always are," Peter said.

"Yeah, in your hands," Logan said.

"That is not what I meant, Logan, my brother," Peter said. If his face was any redder he'd set off the smoke alarm a third time.

"So cute this one is." Kitty kissed Peter's dimple.

"When did you start back up again with ze cigars, mein freund?" Kurt asked Wolverine, "I thought you had quit?"

"Should know by now, elf. I never quit nothin'," Wolverine said.

"So just a hiatus for three years?" Kurt said.

"Yup."

"As long as you don't take a hiatus from the good people of Budweiser 'zen we are good."

"Amen." Wolverine reclined in his chair. "Elf, wanna know a good balanced fighting style?"

"Brew in one hand, brew in ze other?" Kurt said.

"Damn straight," Wolverine smiled.

"Agreed!" Jubilee said.

"Two more years, liebschen, 'zen we can have a real toast," Kurt said.

"I'm old enough to go to war and die, why can't I have a drink?"

"That didn't work for me back in the day, and it better not work for you now!" Kitty dropped her elbows on the table.

"Katya, we put out the smoke, did we not?" Peter said, hiding back a small grin.

"Uh, doy doy. Geez, not the quickest tractor on the collective, huh?" Kitty said.

"Then, tell me, Katya. Where is the fire?" Peter smiled.

Kitty folded her arms and flared her nostrils.

"Burn from the big guy!" Jubilee said.

"Didn't know you had it in ya." Wolverine bellowed out his signature guttural laugh.

"My Spauldings are right where they are supposed to be," Peter said proudly.

"And I can tell you exactly where they're not going to be tonight, bub!" Kitty leered at Peter.

The mountainous Russian shrunk in his chair down to about 5'11. "But, Katya…it's Thursday…" Peter mumbled.

"For ze rest of us, ja," Kurt said.

"E'ryone can relax…" Gambit carried a tray of seven steaming plates to the table, "…Breakfast is here."

"Just put the slop on the table already, gumbo, and cut the theatrics," Logan said.

Gambit rested the tray on the center of the table. "Dis gourmet, Monsieur Wolverine!"

"No argument here, mein freund. The aroma…" Kurt shut his eyes as he inhaled the rich blend of Belgian Waffles, keesh, and fresh coffee, "…Simply divine."

"Dis guy gets it," Gambit patted Kurt on the back.

"All jokes aside, mighty nice a you to do all this for us, Remy," Rogue said as she took her seat.

"Gambit can do many nice t'ings for you, Chere," he said as he sat across from her.

"Heh…" Rogue chuckled, "how about shave?" She rubbed her gloved hand on his stubble.

"Course. Jus' let Gambit know da part of yo' body, and he shave it for you." Gambit gave his devilish grin.

"Gross! PG please! I'm still a youngin, after all, according to sooooome people!" Jubilee snatched a plate from the tray.

"Good you're finally outta denial, kid," Wolverine said as he grabbed a plate.

"Kids I tell ya. Amirite?" Kitty said.

"I could not agree more, Katya," Peter said.

"Much better…" Kitty took a plate then furrowed her brow in thought, "…wait…"

"You do the honors, 'Crawler?" Wolverine bowed his head.

"For you, herr Logan, ze world." Kurt folded his hands in prayer. "Let us bow our heads. Heavenly Father, we are so very thankful to you for all your blessings. To be in a place and a time that I would never have dreamt of as a boy. But that Father, is your power. Your gift to see not what is there, but what will be. Always what will be."

"Que, sera, sera," Gambit mumbled.

"Remy!" Rogue kicked Gambit's shin under the table.

Kurt chuckled and continued, "Your plan for us, all of us, is so much greater zan we can see today. You fill us with ze hope that better days are always on ze horizon. How can we not praise him for such a gift? To know ze best is yet to come."

 _Your faith is repayed, Kurt Wagner._ A gentle voice floated into Kurt's mind.

"Mein gott!" Kurt stumbled from his chair.

A sudden burst of golden light showered the mansion. The searing light stunned Kitty and Jubilee and floored Gambit and Colossus.

"By the white wolf!" Colossus yelled and transmuted his skin to organic steel.

Wolverine jumped from his chair. Six adamantium claws ripped through the flesh over his knuckles.

Rogue took to the air, shielding her eyes with her forearm. "What in tarnation?"

Wolverine feverishly sniffed in all directions. "Nuthin'," he snarled, "Can't get a blasted scent!"

The wave of light's intensity waned. A soft, golden tint settled over the mansion.

In an instant, the kitchen was flooded with dozens upon dozens of students. They passed like ghosts through the X-Men as they moved through the kitchen to sit at a massive, ephemeral table that looked like it could seat fifty people.

Wolverine snapped back. "What the flamin'?"


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

 **Danger Room**

Singed flesh. Pungent. Crisp.

Direct hit.

Cyclops adjusted his visor. He didn't need to see the contact to know exactly where, when, and how hard his optic blast connected. Scott wasn't Wolverine, thankfully, but his sense of smell was pretty darn good too. And unlike Wolverine, he didn't have to constantly beat everyone over the head with how great he was.

Scott smiled. Or more accurately, he let a smile get away from him. There was a time when just thinking about the little braggart would get him bent out of shape. Time was a hell of a thing. Truth was he respected Wolverine as a man and loved him like a brother. A deranged, cantankerous brother, but a brother nonetheless. They didn't always like each other. But it didn't matter. After all these years they were family.

The familiar, faint odor of roasted human hair radiated off Bishop's prone body. Probably his forearms. Bishop might not have been alert enough to dodge but at least he had enough awareness to block before getting knocked through a decrepit concrete wall.

The bombed-out buildings were like concrete wedges of Swiss cheese with holes the size of mortars. The destitute surroundings were as close to a replica as Bishop could conjure of his time. Home field advantage. Storm's words. Not Scott's. Would make more sense to test Bishop in a neutral environment and see how he adapts. They wouldn't be doing this in the first place if they didn't already know he could lead in his own time. On his terms.

But Scott knew better than anyone that leading a team of X-Men meant learning how to adjust.

Chalky debris swept inside Scott's mask. What he really wanted was to take the whole cumbersome thing off and wipe his face. Shifting his visor was the best he could do. Another of life's wonderful little compromises.

Some days he wished he could just toss the stupid thing. World was so much smaller, and hotter, under the visor.

Scott palmed his right fist in his left hand and cracked his knuckles.

Crazy talk.

The visor helped him see in the way a wheelchair helped the Professor move. He needed it. He was grateful for it. More importantly, by now he was used to it.

Be weirder without it.

Red coronas of energy rippled from beneath the rubble. A cackling surge of energy burst from Bishop. Cyclops tucked and rolled. The blast sliced through the Danger Room floor quicker than an adamantium cut.

Bishop's body glowed. He bolted toward Cyclops like a streak of fire. A vicious right fist cracked against the side of Cyclops' face. His jaw rattled like dentures in a bag.

Sparks of energy charged through Bishop's left hand. A ballet of shadows danced over Bishop's face behind his drawn fist.

He had that look in his eye. That look Bishop got when he would briefly forget he wasn't an outcast from another time. When he forgot he didn't belong.

It was a look of joy. Unbridled. Carnal. Joy. Scott never pretended to be best pals with Bishop. And a part of him maybe lamented it. He never truly knew Bishop. He didn't think any of the others did either. Not even Storm. Maybe they never reached out enough to him to make him feel like he belonged. Maybe Bishop didn't want to fit in. Not all the way.

But Scott knew one thing about the man called Bishop. Whoever he really was. Whatever his true personality was beneath his sense of alienation and awe of the X-Men. This was Bishop. The crazed warrior fighting him to his last breath. That was Bishop.

A man can't make his eyes lie.

Scott was something of an expert in the department.

"If this were a real fight, Cyclops…" Bishop's barreled chest heaved up and down, "…you would be de-."

" _If_ this were a real fight," Storm commanded from twenty feet above like the voice of god, "you would have humility forced upon you instead of it simply being advised."

"Now!" Cyclops said.

A roaring gust of wind slammed into Bishop's chest. Cyclops swept his legs in unison. Bishop toppled to the artificial concrete floor with a jarring thud.

Cyclops pinned Bishop's left hand with his knee and jammed his forearm against Bishop's throat until the time traveling X-Man's face was as blue as his uniform.

Bishop thrashed from side to side. It was like trying to restrain a crocodile. Or Jean at a shoe sale.

"I gotta give it to you, you fought a good fight," Cyclops said.

"…Fought?" Bishop spat out the word as if it was a bone in his fish.

"Fought. As in, this exercise is over," Cyclops said.

Bishop squirmed feverishly. "That's the difference between us Cyclops…" His left hand trembled under Cyclops' knee. "I don't quit easy."

Scott tightened his vice against his throat. Cyclops' eye beams flared behind the slit of his visor like the sun wearing sunglasses, "Your choice, Bishop."

The energy Bishop absorbed from Cyclops' optic blast scorched the fabric over Cyclops' Patella. He couldn't hold him down much longer.

Fine. You know what? Fine. Scott had the shot. This is what Bishop wanted. He wanted a real fight. Scott was happy to oblige.

Cyclops focused his visor squarely between Bishop's glaring eyes.

Bishop had no idea who he was messing with. What he was getting into. No one ever did. Not with Scott Summers. Story of his life. They push and push and push, but when Bishop's laying up in the med room, everyone would look at Scott with those damn, condemning eyes. And say, Scott should have known better. Scott went too far. Scott should've been able to control himself.

His burning red eye lingered on Bishop.

"What are you waiting for?" Bishop barked.

"…Last chance!" Scott said.

"For which of us?" Bishop asked. His hand was wriggling free. "I'd die before I gave up fighting. Like a lot of our enemies…"

Scott's grip weakened over Bishop's arm.

"… You're in my time, remember?" Bishop's pupils constricted, "...Not this place. Not these walls. This fight. Face to face with an opponent that won't stop until he's won. Where a second of inaction could be a thousand innocent casualties!"

Storm gracefully touched down onto the floor from the ceiling. Sparks of electricity flowed from her fingertips.

"Do not speak on such things you have little understanding. The X-Men have made hard choices before and would do so again if and when necessary," she said.

"Only after it's too late!" Bishop yelled.

He yanked his arm from beneath Cyclops' knee and fired at Storm. The sizzling impact leveled her to the ground.

Bishop snatched Cyclops by the throat and rammed him against the opposite wall.

"Aargh!" Scott grunted.

"I believe that will suffice for today," Professor Xavier spoke from the control room communicator. "Exit Danger Room Program."

"Good workout everyone, grab some water and we'll meet you down there in a second," Jean Grey said from the control room intercom.

The illusion of the future disappeared. Towering holographic buildings faded into tiny patterns of light. Then nothingness. Only the default silver steel of the Danger Room was left.

Bishop released his chokehold. Scott dropped to a knee. His aching lungs gasped for air.

"…Heck of a grip you got there," Scott said between breaths.

Bishop helped Scott to his feet and chuckled.

"You had a receipt coming from that optic blast," Bishop said.

"Catch," Ororo tossed Bishop and Scott bottles of water.

Bishop rubbed the cool plastic against his scalded forearms. Steam rose off his now hairless arms. It looked like someone went up and down his arms with a mini lawnmower.

"Hopefully this is the only time I ever shave my arms," Bishop said.

"Still cheaper than how Jean does it," Scott said.

Bishop snorted and the two laughed.

"I was unaware women even did such a thing," Bishop said.

 _Scott Summers!_ Jean telepathically shouted.

"Er…" Cyclops almost dropped his water bottle, "…of course not Bishop. Only a joke."

"I am certain there are many things about the other sex you are unaware, Lucas," Ororo said.

Bishop's face did its best impression of his red forearms. "…You have me at a disadvantage, Wind Rider. As you normally do."

Storm conjured a gentle snow cloud and rested it on Bishop's blistered forearms.

"Perhaps that is best. Conversations like this with the wrong woman might lead to more than just forearms being burned." Storm smiled.

Storm was always so comfortable with herself. Wasn't a coincidence Scott was the one under a mask while her hair flowed like ivory waves.

Sometimes…most times it was hard for Scott to figure out if she was flirting or just making a statement.

Of all his friends, she was definitely the closest to Bishop. Maybe Jubilee a distant second. Even then, he never got the impression Storm saw Bishop the way she once saw Forge.

Or how Scott saw Jean.

…

Anything?

Darn.

Finally a chance at some brownie points with Jean and it's the one time she's conveniently not reading his thoughts.

 _Oh, don't think just because I don't respond doesn't mean I'm not here. Better luck next time._

The Danger Room doors swooshed open. The two most important people in Scott's life entered.

Was easy to think that way.

Cyclops took a sip of his water. Bishop had chugged his bottle until he sucked out the last bit of water and air inside it.

Storm had finished her water even faster than Bishop. She had the perfect figure. But when it came to food and drink? The woman could eat.

Including this one, Scott had taken two measured sips from his bottle. He kept telling himself he was blessed to have two people in his life like the Professor and Jean. Two people who loved him and cared for him. Made him feel important. Made him feel secure.

But after a while, the thought would creep in. _The_ thought.

The thought…the fact that it should be three. He had a son once. A baby.

No.

Cyclops took another sip.

He has a son.

He has a son. And he loves him.

Scott gulped down his water. It was like swallowing rocks.

Scott had two sons. In his mind. In his heart. Cable and baby Nathan. No matter how he tried to fool himself, he knew they were two separate people.

One of them he looked out for and watched grow up in the far future with Jean. He was so proud of the man Cable grew up to be despite all the adversity he faced in his painful life.

Ugh. Just the thought of his son having such a painful life was the worst stabbing pain any parent could experience. But he would bear it. Scott felt selfish admitting any pain. Internal or otherwise. After all Cable had been through. After all that he had failed to shield Cable from. What right did Scott have to talk about hurt and pain?

He failed one son. He failed Cable.

His other son? Baby Nathan?  
He lost him.

Failing a child is the worst thing a parent can do. Losing a child is the worst thing a parent can endure.

Scott's old one eye saw both.

When he gave baby Nathan to the Askani…she was right. He never did see him again. He saw the man he would grow to be. But that wasn't Nathan. That wasn't his baby. That wasn't the baby he held in his arms. The little tyke that would reach out with his stubby baby fingers and try to grab his visor. Kid was obsessed with trying to take it off him.

More ways than one.

Cyclops chuckled.

"Forgive me, Scott. I did not anticipate you would find humor in splitting the field teams," the Professor said.

"…I…" Scott looked around awkwardly.

Bishop folded his arms. Storm cocked an eyebrow.

 _Scott…_ Jean telepathically whispered.

"…Sorry, sir," Scott said.

 _I'm fine, Jean. Really. I'm fine._

Jean bit her lip.

"No need for apology, son…" the Professor smiled reassuringly at Scott. "As we have discussed over the past several weeks, it is my goal to expand the Xavier Institute to provide greater access for mutants across the nation, and eventually, the world. God willing…"

 _I know it hurts, Scott. And I know you don't want to think about it so I won't push. But it's healthy to feel what you are feeling. Cyclops is a wonderful person. He endures and endures despite insurmountable odds. Cyclops is a great man._

Jean squeezed his hand.

 _But right now, with…_ _Nathan_ _…_ _the worst thing you can do is be Cyclops in your own heart. Please, Scott, don't try to just go through the pain. There's a reason the pain resurfaces again and again after all these years. It's not an optic blast. You don't have to hold it back. You can share it with your family. Your friends. Your wife. We're here for you. Always. When you're ready._

Scott smiled at his wife.

"…And part of that expansion is maintaining a field team presence at each campus. Starting the fall semester, under Emma's request, we will open the rebranded Xavier Massachusetts Academy, and open the doors in San Francisco to Utopia: Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters, as well as continuing operations as usual here in Westchester. The Red team will serve as the field team for Utopia, comprised of Phoenix, Gambit, Rogue, and Psylocke, led by Cyclops. The Gold team will be the field team in New York, comprised of Wolverine, Nightcrawler, Colossus, and Shadowkat, led by Storm. And lastly…"

The Professor turned to Bishop. "…The Blue team will serve as the field team for the Massachusetts Academy, comprised of Emma, Beast, Archangel, Iceman, and Jubilee, with Bishop leading."

Bishop stiffened like a board and saluted the Professor. "Sir…I…thank you for the opportunity, but I am not worthy. Any of the other X-Men you mentioned would be more deserving."

"At ease, son. This is not simply an opportunity. It is an achievement. You have earned this consideration for your years of courage and valor. Your experience leading the XSE and successful integration into this unfamiliar time for you have been nothing short of exemplary."

Bishop was well over six feet. Well over two hundred pounds. Guy was built like a tank. But for that moment, his doe-eyed response said only one thing. For the first time maybe in his whole life, Bishop was a child again. It was genuinely beautiful. Never in a million years did Scott think he would ever say that about a grown man, least of all Bishop. But it was.

"I…sir…I am afraid you are mistaken. There is still so much more about your culture and time that I do not know. Ask Storm. I do not wish to disgrace you," Bishop said.

Storm put her hand on his shoulder. "Do not let my teasing sway your confidence. I would not assume you to be intimidated so easily."

"Think of it as a chance to grow. A mission. There's a lot of good you can do. We all believe in you, Lucas," Jean said.

"I'm just looking forward to you putting that chokehold on someone else for a change," Scott said.

Bishop laughed.

"Please consider it, son. You have the most to give and the most to gain. Think about it. For now, the Red Team will go into Manhattan to attend _A Street Car Named Desire_." The Professor said.

"It's Rio Vaughn's first performance since outing himself as a mutant. And he specifically invited the X-Men as his private guests," Jean said.

"Jean and I sense he could be in grave danger. Be on your guard. Meanwhile the Blue team will have a scrimmage against the Gold team in the Danger Room," the Professor said.

"I'll brief the others," Scott said.

The professor motioned for the open doorway. Bishop leaned beside his mentor.

"…May I ask, sir? Was I your first choice?" Bishop said.

"We considered all the X-Men. Seniority was given initially to those who had led in the past. However, both Kurt and Anna declined due to the pressure of leadership. Understandably so. After an evaluation of the others, your peers voted you for the position, three-zero."

"So much for the secret ballot, eh, Professor?" Jean nudged the Professor.

"The position is yours to take, my friend," Storm said.

"And you won't be alone. Any time you need guidance or have a question, Ororo and I are always here for you," Scott said.

"Leadership did not come easily at first for me, Lucas. It is a journey," Storm said.

"One best with friends and family at your side," Jean added.

"I learned that particular lesson, on reflection, later than I should. I have grown in ways I never imagined at a time when I thought I was grown already. We are all excited for you to take the same journey, Bishop," Storm said.

"Your sentiment is shared, Ms. Monroe…"

The Danger Room doors slammed shut.

"…For I must embark on the same journey, and lead the X-Men."

That voice!

Where?

Cyclops swiveled his head. Storm, Bishop, and Jean readied in battle stances.

"Exodus! Show yourself!" Scott yelled.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

 **Danger Room**

Scott's voice echoed back at him. His glowing eye swerved side to side like a ruby red flashlight in search of Exodus.

Scott hadn't heard wrong. Exodus' voice was unmistakable. Its saccharine bass poured like honey whenever he spoke. There was an ethereal, hypnotic charm to it. Like being ensnared by a vampire before its strike.

Or Gambit.

Both leaches.

Storm took to the air. Sparks flew from around her majestic pearl eyes.

Bishop pounded on the sealed Danger Room doors. "How could he have gotten into the control room?"

"I doubt he has." The professor pressed his fingers against his temples. He shut his eyes, desperately scanning the danger room. Mansion. New York.

"I'm not picking up anything either, Professor. He's doing it remotely somehow," Jean said.

"The mansion's defenses still should've alerted us to a psychic attack, no matter how remote," Bishop said.

"Clearly they did not," Storm said.

"The mansion's defenses have failed in the past, and people have telepathically cloaked themselves before," Cyclops said, "focus on neutralizing the threat, people."

"Agreed," Bishop said.

"You have our audience, Exodus. The next move is yours," Xavier said.

This wasn't like Exodus. He was Magneto's boy. Period. Uncharted power levels? Yes. But power meant nothing without ambition. And Exodus was nothing without his mentor.

Scott inhaled deeply.

Exodus probably thought the same about Scott.

"What dreams you must dream in this room," Exodus' disembodied voice said.

Without warning, the Danger Room flooded with holograms. Transparent ghosts of Cyclops, Marvel Girl, Iceman, Angel, and Beast as teenagers emerged, dressed in their original blue and gold uniforms. Dressed for combat.

"How is he controlling the Danger Room?" Bishop yelled.

"That is for us to find out," the Professor said.

The sterile blue walls disappeared, rematerialized as the iron chamber of a sentinel processing plant. A hologram of Bolivar Trask stood between the original X-Men and miles of dormant sentinels.

"Oh my God, Scott, look. I remember this like it was yesterday," Jean said.

"My condolences then." Storm balked at the bitter odor of smelted iron.

"There's a reason he's showing us this," Scott said.

"Any guesses?" Jean said.

"Obviously torture." Storm summoned a brisk wind to aerate the ferrous stench.

"Or a diversion," Bishop yelled, "Professor, can you reach the others?"

"He or the other Acolytes have created some sort of psychic interference. I'm insulated beyond these four walls. Jean, continue trying to contact the others. I will try to locate Exodus," the Professor said.

In an instant, the Danger Room transformed once more. Holograms of Storm, Cyclops, Wolverine, Nightcrawler, Kitty Pryde, and Colossus appeared, locked in battle with an army of Purifiers and their leader, Reverend William Stryker.

Bishop's eyes roared with energy. "Show yourself!"

"Consider your room of danger, a burning bush," Exodus' voice reemerged, "As the voice of God once spoke to Moses, so too do I, my chosen people," Exodus said.

He could be anywhere. Cloaked. Invisible. Waiting right beside them in the Danger Room, ready to strike. For all Scott knew, Bishop was right and this was only a small part of an intricate plot by Magneto. Trap them in the Danger Room while the other Acolytes attack the rest of the team. Or the world.

"We have indulged your dramatics long enough. You have proven yourself nothing more than a vulgar charlatan and blasphemer, Exodus." Storm summoned chains of lightning around her arms, "Depart our premises or be forced from them."

The holographic X-Men disintegrated. Faded from artificial existence. Their photons of light sparkled like a system of stars and converged once more into new patterns and shapes.

Simulacrums of Cyclops, Psylocke, Wolverine, Gambit, Beast, and Jubilee appeared opposite Graydon Creed and his Friends of Humanity.

Trask. Stryker. Creed. Three different men. Three generations of X-Men. Each holographic projection had only two things in common.

Cyclops.

And apparently, the result.

It was always the same. Scott was there. He saw it first-hand. An endless circle of conflict. Humans versus mutants. Establishment versus "the other." Didn't matter who lived or who died. There'd _always_ be a Trask or Stryker or Creed.

And there'd always be a Cyclops.

Scott sighed.

And he supposed there'd always be a fight. It was as if for every evil human born there was a good mutant born. A cruel, perfect balance that only perpetuated a harmony of bloodshed.

Sometimes when Madelyne was pregnant they would walk through the park in August in Alaska. Beautiful time of the year. They would walk past family's playing on the seesaw. Scott always imagined how much fun that would be. Rocking up and down on one side with Maddie and baby Nathan on the other.

Scott gritted his teeth.

Never got that chance.

But he did get to be on a seesaw. Had been on one the entire time he was an X-Man. Him on one side. All of humanity on the other. Just going up and down, never making any real progress.

No, that wasn't true. Wasn't the whole story. Ignorance was the enemy, and patience, understanding, and education were the solution. Being an X-Man meant more than lightning bolts and optic blasts. It was about having the strength to stay in the real fight. Having the courage to remain patient. Gentle. Humble. Sacrificing today to build bridges of understanding for tomorrow.

"You can cut the history lesson, Exodus. Get on with it. We see the pattern," Scott shouted.

"Do you, now?" Exodus nonchalantly replied. His voice bounced off the walls as if the Danger Room itself addressed Scott. "The oldest among you, Mr. Logan, is but a child to me. I have seen the very worst of humanity and its dark, twisted heart. A heart that will pillage and exploit others until the end of time. It is ironic then that if we are all perpetrators, we must also all be victims."

 _Yep, he's definitely lost it,_ Jean telepathically said to Scott and Storm. It was Jean's version of group texts.

 _We are in agreement, sister,_ Storm replied.

 _I only wish I knew if that made him less, or more, dangerous,_ Scott telepathically said.

"We are a population waiting for a sign," Exodus said, his tone harshening, "For meaning. I devoted what you would call a lifetime waiting at my mentor's side searching for meaning. Trying to understand how and why I could be so powerful yet so inconsequential in the universe."

The Professor lifted his head as if talking to the room, "Our issues in the past have never been of a personal nature. There is and will always be a place here with the X-Men for you, should you choose. But I doubt your intention today is simply to espouse to us your personal journey."

"Indeed," Exodus said.

A brilliant ball of light burst inside the Danger room. In a flash, the man called Exodus emerged. He floated overhead. His regal, violet and gold robes adorned the still air.

"There!" Bishop yelled.

A surge of energy rifled from Bishop's fists. Exodus teleported. The blast rammed into the ceiling. Chunks of steel and cement hailed down from the impact.

Exodus quickly reappeared, standing among the X-Men on the Danger Room floor.

"Do not engage, X-Men!" the Professor barked at his students. He turned to Exodus. "Why has Magnus sent you?"

Exodus turned his back to Xavier.

"You're a long way from Avalon, Mister," Scott said, "answer the Professor or this gets ugly fast."

Exodus stared at the crater in the ceiling. With a wave of his hand, he telekinetically lifted the rubble and debris from the blast and patched the ceiling.

Exodus faced the Professor.

"My actions are my own, child. Do you remember what you once said to me on Genosha?" Exodus said.

"I am a telepath. I seldom forget," the Professor said.

"Good," Exodus took a step closer. "And as a telepath, how often has that thought crept back into your mind uninvited?"

"And what thought is that?" the Professor said. His steely, unflinching eyebrows were like black barges.

"That, in your words, I am as powerful as I wish to be," Exodus said.

"We all possess that potential," Xavier said.

"Yes. And how many of us are cultivated to unlock that potential?" Exodus said.

"A better question, how many of us attempt to cultivate that potential in others?" Xavier stared dead in Exodus' eyes, "There are many of us who would decry a system without offering solutions to fix it. I find that frankly a greater failure."

"I couldn't agree more," Exodus said.

With a graceful wave of his hand, magnificent rays of golden light swept over the Danger Room and erased the holographic images of the past. To Scott, the resplendent gold was just another dull shade of red.

The whole elaborate display made Scott's skin crawl. Nothing hurt. Nothing even touched him. The golden beams of light were, if anything, soothing. Like snuggling in a warm blanket.

Maybe that's what was so off-putting. How was Exodus doing it? For that matter, what exactly was Exodus doing? Was he a telepath? Telekinetic?

If Scott were Mr. Fantastic he'd use his extra-long leg and kick himself. After all this time, how could he not have done more research to chart the full extent of Exodus' powers? He seemed so much more confident and driven then he had ever known Exodus to be. In a lot of ways, his fidelity to Magneto hindered him. Retarded his full potential.

The Professor had molded Scott Summers into Cyclops, and under his tutelage, Scott achieved a potential far greater than what he was predestined for. But Exodus was the polar opposite. It gnawed at Scott that Exodus might reach his full potential by breaking from his mentor.

The shuttering waves of golden light washed over the Danger Room. The Danger Room itself vanished.

Scott, Jean, Bishop, Storm, and the Professor floated beside Exodus forty feet above ground outside in a golden sky.

"By the goddess!" Storm yelled.

Cyclops locked his visor right on Exodus. Unless Scott was the pilot, he hated flying.

"Do not concern yourselves, X-Men. I present you no danger. Quite the opposite," Exodus said.

As the wave of golden light spread like circular ripples in a pond, the light remodeled Westchester. Magnificent golden towers and sterling meadows replaced New York.

Like a curator, Exodus gently guided the floating X-Men closer to ground level. Humans and mutants filled the pristine, golden utopia with life.

The sight of peace was as magnificent as it was jarring. Like watching a CGI movie. It looked great. But fake. Very, very fake. Nothing was real.

"You've each dreamt of this world for so very long. Despite your best efforts and admirable sacrifices, you X-Men, are predestined to never win. Your future, Charles Xavier, of a world of peaceful coexistence between humans and mutants, is one doomed to never come to fruition. And it is not your fault. You, Professor Charles Xavier, you and your charges, the X-Men, are the best humanity has to offer."

"It perhaps is not our fault, but it is our responsibility. I do not pretend to have the abilities you possess, Exodus. I cannot wave my hands and create this utopia. Nor would I wish to. My tools are knowledge. Education. The conviction and patience to see through to the end the eradication of Man's fear of what he does not understand," Xavier said.

"Man fears the unknown. And men cannot know everything. There will always be an "other." If not mutants today, then tomorrow a new unknown people or way of life will emerge. Men will find differences," Exodus said.

"One does not need to know everything, as you put it, to understand the value in trying to learn it," Xavier said.

"A human is killed by a mutant, and their children grow up hating mutants and kill one. That mutant's children grow to hate humans and kill one. That ingrained, generational conflict is an endless cycle that cannot be mended by education or tolerance. Education only strengthens the hate. History conditions mutants to see themselves as victims. A fate every mutant must choose to either accept or fight against, perpetuating the violence and hate. This despoiled environment will never allow true victory for the X-Men's vision. The victory you and humanity deserve," Exodus said.

Scott looked around as he and his teammates floated like spirits above ground. They drifted past a sprawling park. The artificial laughter of children playing on the swings and seesaw made Scott's ears bleed. He wished he could optic blast this whole synthetic, fake future back into the disparate patterns of light that made it.

"But it doesn't have to be that way," Exodus said, "Imagine a world with your values instilled firmly at its core from the beginning. Observe." Exodus extended his arms as if presenting the world as a gift, "This is a planet couched in the teachings of Charles Xavier. A society built on generations of tolerance. Education. Patience. Sacrifice. Understanding. All from its inception. It is a world of X-Men."

Scott looked closer. Every last human and mutant parent and child had, on some part of their body, the "X" logo. Scott hadn't noticed until just now. Sometimes it was hard to pick out the real set pieces amid all the CGI in a movie.

"You didn't come all this way to do a puff piece on the X-Men. You say you're emancipated from Magneto, but your turning into him. More in love with speeches and the sound of your own voice than with making a real difference," Scott snapped.

Exodus smiled. "It is that precise passion that reaffirms my decision. You, X-Men, are the best of us. The world would be a better place if the X-Men were right. To that end, I will do what the X-Men cannot, nor should do. I shall change the environment to allow the X-Men to change humanity."

"What do you mean, _change_ the environment?" Jean said.

Exodus instantly transported the X-men back into the Danger Room.

"In seven days, I shall cleanse the Earth. Only the X-Men and your affiliates will survive. The X-men shall inherit the Earth, and with it the responsibility to repopulate it. It shall be a utopia, a culture exclusively built on a foundation of the X-Men's teachings."

"That is morbid!" Storm said.

"But necessary. I understand and honor how repulsed you must be by my declaration," Exodus said.

"Then you also know we'll do everything in our power to stop you," Cyclops said.

"I am, and I would not have it any other way. My role is to do for my chosen people what they cannot do for themselves," Exodus said.

"And we are to believe you even possess the power for such a ghastly undertaking? A feat even Magneto would not attempt," Storm said.

The Professor looked away briefly. He was unsettlingly silent. Scott and Bishop exchanged silent glances. A nonverbal conversation in a split second that would take generals precious minutes to discuss.

"Magneto is the mutant messiah. His methods are the only means of mutant survival and prosperity in this harsh world. But it is time I ascend to my responsibilities. I am god among mutants, and you are my chosen people. Your empathy would never allow you to do what needs to be done for the sake of the future. It is my obligation to shepherd my people out of this dark world so they may create a brighter one. I do not envy myself the task. It is something that must be done. And only I to do it."

"Seven days, huh?" Cyclops said, "How about NOW!"

Bishop and Cyclops fired in unison at Exodus.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

 **Blackbird**

The golden ripples of light vanished. Gone like someone magically snapped their fingers. The familiar Westchester skyline instantly popped into view. The Blackbird rattled in the dawn sky, hurtling full throttle toward the mansion's roof.

Beast jerked the Blackbird's controls up to no avail.

"Well…" Hank gulped, "…this is as good a time as any to say this. It turns out I'm not quite perfect after all."

"Shocking," Bobby said.

"Stop playing and move the damn jet, Hank!" Betsy snapped.

She wasn't having any of it. Hank really couldn't tell if it was the prospect of a head on collision with the mansion that was irking her or Hank's glib comment. Whatever it was, the sweet, sheepish Betsy he met all those years ago was long gone. As far gone as her original body. There was so much Psylocke could do. Keen mind. Martial arts expertise. Breathtaking looks that could stop a man's heart.

But patience?

Yeah, she was short on that one. She probably just assumed by now it was everyone else's job to be patient. Lucky them.

Hank turned to Betsy and rolled his eyes. "Hmm, imminent death upon us? Gee, why hadn't I thought of moving the jet?" Hank rocked the controls like broken joysticks, "Thank you for that observation, Elizabeth."

"Emma, hurry! Contact Jean and tell her to take control of the Blackbird!" Warren yelled.

"You must be joking." Emma turned up her surgically constructed nose.

"Ugh. I'll do it," Betsy said.

"Bloody hell. If we wanted to see Jean show off I could just ask her how she dyes her hair." Emma folded her arms.

"Shut it. I can't concentrate with all the whining." Betsy closed her eyes, her telepathic butterfly hid her face like a magenta domino mask.

"Hmph. Children whine. I simply make charming observations." Emma transmuted her pale skin to prismatic diamond and crossed her legs.

"I can't reach her, there's too much psychic interference," Betsy said.

"Then the mansion's under attack too," Warren said.

"By us, I'm afraid, if we cannot change our current course for the mansion, second floor," Hank said.

The Blackbird rocketed closer to the mansion. Closer. Its monolithic shadow engulfed the tan roof of their home.

"Now'd be a real good time for someone to get possessed by the Phoenix Force again. Emma, looking in your direction," Bobby said.

"Please," Emma said.

Exodus suddenly teleported in the sky between the Blackbird and the mansion.

"Oh my stars and garters." Hank's jaw hit the bottom of his seat.

"Exodus!" Warren snarled.

"That's it, next time I'm walking," Bobby said.

Exodus waved his left arm and conducted the Blackbird like a prodigious maestro. The massive jet yielded to its new master and slowed to a stop a yard from the mansion.

"This is…something," Betsy managed to say.

"My apologies, X-Men. My… demonstration had an unexpected effect on your vessel," Exodus said.

His psionic energy encased the Blackbird and gently set the jet on the vacant lawn. "Be well."

Exodus vanished. No smoke. No bamf. Just disappeared in a fraction of a second.

Hank turned around from his pilot chair. He and Bobby looked at one another in complete silence.

A second passed.

Then another.

Finally.

"…Yup," Bobby said.

Hank let out a labored exhale. He deflated faster than the balloons they got Logan for his birthday.

Hank sank into his chair and matted his sweat soaked blue mane, "As they say, any landing," Beast muttered.

"Everyone-…" Bobby started.

"Hurry!" Warren cut Bobby off, "Open the door, Hank, the others need our help in the mansion!"

Hank crossed his fingers and tapped the controls with his other hand.

The door slid open.

It was about time something worked.

"We don't know for sure they're under attack. If anything Exodus just saved us," Betsy said.

"I suggest we find out then, dear," Emma unbuckled her seatbelt.

"Where there's one Acolyte, there're a dozen." Warren darted out the jet, followed by Betsy, and Emma.

Bobby sighed and headed for the door, "…okay?"

Hank and Bobby disembarked the Blackbird to join their three teammates on the estate lawn.

Emma scanned the area. She grimaced slightly, "Wherever Exodus is, it certainly is not here anymore."

"He's probably cloaked. I'll find him," Betsy said.

"Um, excuse me. Butterfly girl? If I said he is not here. Then he is not here," Emma scoffed at Betsy.

"Uh, oh," Bobby said and transformed his body into a suit of ice. With or without Exodus, it was go time.

"With all due respect, you say a lot of things. No one cares." Betsy telepathically surveyed the estate grounds.

"Emma stomped her foot and whispered to Hank. "The Nerve! Someone's floss must be riding up especially high today."

The mansion front entrance swung open behind them. X-Men swarmed like hornets to meet the away team on the courtyard.

Bishop was the first to race out the mansion. His fists flared with absorbed energy ready to fire at the first man, woman, child, or blade of grass that looked at him cross.

"Where is he!?" Bishop shouted.

"Exodus attacked you too?" Warren said.

The Professor, Jean, Scott, Ororo, Remy, Jubilee, Kitty, Peter, Kurt, Logan, and Anna followed behind Bishop. The entire team assembled on the front lawn.

As far as Hank could tell, not one of them had a scratch. Physically. The grim, tightly drawn expression of the Professor and rabid, paranoid flicker of Logan's eyes in every direction said quite the opposite.

Logan was a man without fear. He was a survivor. He literally could heal from anything. In more ways than one. But if there was one thing that could rattle the Ol' Canuckle Head, it was distortion of his reality. For a rebellious wild man, Logan craved structure. Stability. Suppose for all he'd lost in his life, control wasn't something he liked handing over. Taking that away from him was more damaging than Sabretooth's claws.

That wave of golden light and apparitions must have hit the other X-Men too. Warren was right. It was an attack. Perhaps the "demonstration," Exodus alluded to.

But why?

What was the meaning of it only for Exodus himself to save them? Maybe a miscommunication with the other Acolytes or Magneto himself.

Whatever happened while they were in the air, it was enough to startle Logan.

"I wouldn't exactly have called it an attack," Betsy amended Warren's comment.

Warren glared out the corner of his eye at her. She seemed to be enjoying playing devil's advocate. To be fair, she was right. Technically. Exodus had saved them. But was it from his own attack?

"Nor would I." Ororo stepped forward.

Wolverine popped his sterling Adamantium claws, "You lost yer mind, 'Ro? Nobody breaks into our house just to say hi."

Wolverine vociferously sniffed around the lawn, "I can smell him."

"I concur with Logan," the Professor addressed his students, "there is an ignominious motive behind Exodus' appearances this morning."

"Took the word right outta my mind," Bobby said.

"An' here ah thought Jaime had the corner on bein' three places at once," Rogue said.

"Apparently not," Hank said.

Gambit, Kurt, and Peter stared at the Blackbird ostentatiously parked on the sprawling front lawn.

"Interesting…landing, friend Beast," Peter said.

"Mebbe next time you open de Sherri after de flight, n'es pas?" Gambit said.

"I make no promises," Hank said.

"I take it, ja, zen that we were all visited by Herr Exodus today?" Kurt said.

Everyone nodded.

"There's a lot about Exodus we don't know," Jean said.

"Too much," Scott chimed in.

"What we do know is that Acolytes don't act alone. They don't have that capacity." Warren seethed. "They're a codependent family of psychopaths blindly following their misguided leader's orders."

"But enough about de X-Men," Gambit said.

Kitty's eyes roared.

Storm put her arm around Kitty before she could say a word.

"Now is not the time, Gambit," Storm glared at him.

"I don't know, I chuckled," Bobby said.

"Archangel is the only one thinking clearly," Bishop jumped in, "We could still be under attack by the other Acolytes! We need to sweep the entire estate!"

"I wish that were the case, son. Whatever psychic interference Exodus placed over the mansion, it has been lifted. Neither Jean nor I have detected the presence of any of other Acolytes. Elizabeth, Emma, any success?" Xavier said.

"No, sir," Betsy said.

"I say the same thing. Verbatim. But when Charles says it, it's as if the bloody Pope has spoken," Emma said.

"I wonder why that is?" Jubilee smirked.

"I cannot figure it out either," Emma said.

"Just because we cannot see them, Professor, does not mean they are not here," Peter said.

"My point exactly." Warren nodded.

"Archangel, I'll track the grounds on foot while you do recon above the mansion. We'll form a perimeter and snuff them out," Bishop said.

"On it!" Archangel spread his elegant metallic wings.

"That won't be necessary," the Professor said.

Archangel stopped in midair.

"Your initiative is appreciated, gentlemen, but for naught. Exodus asserts he is acting alone. And I believe him. He claims that in seven days he will, in his words, cleanse the Earth of all mutants and humans, save for the X-Men. His self-proclaimed chosen ones," the Professor said.

"How familiar," Kurt said to himself.

"Should we be flattered or offended?" Bobby said.

"He actually said all that to you guys?" Jubilee said.

"Unfortunately," Jean said.

"…All we got was your faith will be bladdy blah blah," Jubilee said.

"And just when did old pink shoes get so high on us little X-Men?" Kitty said.

"Purple, Katya. It is a color of royalty and honor in my culture," Peter said.

"Sheesh. Alright. When did royal purple shoes join the X-Men fan club?" Kitty said.

"It is his vision that the X-Men will inherit and repopulate the Earth. He believes that our values, institutionalized into the fabric of society from the start, will breed a utopian future," Xavier said.

"Hear dat, chere? Gambit make a good Adam," Gambit whispered to Rogue.

Rogue elbowed him in the gut, "Ah'd say giant snake is more like it."

"Gambit have dat too." Gambit grinned.

"Exodus thinks we're right. And to prove it, he's willing to go against everything we believe in," Scott said.

"It is a sad thing to have such power squandered on such an empty heart," Peter said.

"Elegantly put, little brother," Storm said.

"Great, so another psycho flips through the Bible and now he wants to blow up the world. Typical," Jubilee said.

"Careful, Fraulein," Kurt said.

"I've read the thing, you know? Parts. I know what I'm talking about. Purifiers, Hitler, the whole Crusades, they're all just copying things from the Bible, right? That book's genocide left and right," Jubilee said.

"If Kurt says be careful, darlin', you be careful. Got me?" Logan said.

"…Just sayin' is all," Jubilee said under her breath.

"Now ah don't pretend to be a pastor or nuthin', but where ah grew up in the south, they'd have an expression after someone said sumthin' like that…" Rogue put her arm around Jubilee and looked her in the eye, "…Ya'll goin' ta hell."

"There will be a time for theological discussion. Now is not that time," The Professor said.

"Thank God," Bobby said.

"It is paramount that Exodus is stopped before he has an opportunity to initiate his plan. I must confess, I have feared this day for quite some time. As Exodus himself alluded to, his demonstration of power on Genosha years ago was an alarming display," The Professor said.

"To this point, he has been inhibited by his deference to Magneto and his own imagination. Neither seem to restrain him now," Storm said.

"Freedom can make a man very dangerous," Wolverine said.

"A very dangerous unknown," Scott added, "We don't know how he plans to destroy the population. Where his base is. Or the extent of his powers. Right now we have precious little Intel."

"What else is new?" Warren scowled.

"Things need to change," Bishop said.

"To that point, our first objective is to gather as much data on Exodus as possible," the Professor said.

"There are really only two people who would have any type of scouting on Exodus. His closest ally, Magneto, and his worst enemy, Fabian Cortez," Jean said.

"Thin line 'tween love an' hate," Gambit said.

"You would know, gumbo," Wolverine sniped.

"Using Cerebro, Jean and I managed to locate Cortez's current location in South America," The Professor said.

"Bishop, you'll lead the Blue team of Emma, Hank, Warren, Jubilee, and Bobby to locate and extract Cortez. He's plotted to take down Exodus in the past, and any information he has on Exodus' weaknesses or his base could mean the difference in this," Scott said.

Hank raised an eyebrow. He had heard rumblings they planned on splitting the rosters. Scott and Ororo would obviously lead their respective teams.

But…

No, it was fine. Perfectly fine. Good for Bishop.

Hank forced a smile.

"The Gold team of Storm, Wolverine, Shadowkat, Colossus, and Nightcrawler will be on standby. Once Exodus' location is determined they will lead the assault. Meanwhile, the Red team of Cyclops, Jean, Gambit, Rogue, and Psylocke will attend Rio Vaughn's production as scheduled," the Professor said.

"Nice, A-Team!" Kitty high-fived Kurt.

"Do not expect to face the same man we have faced in the past. Be on your guard, X-Men. I will also attempt to contact Magnus to gain any insight he may possess of his former pupil," the Professor said.

"Do you think it wise to engage Magneto alone, Professor?" Storm said.

"Wise? No, Ororo. But necessary…" Xavier wheeled around toward the Mansion entrance, "…We will need every resource available to stop Exodus and prevent this onslaught."


	6. Chapter 6

**Blackbird**

Hank shifted in his pilot's seat. The rough leather chaffed his fur. Didn't help that the steel underneath was poking his hip. It was like trying to sleep in a new bed or break in a new pair of shoes.

Fair enough.

He'd only sat in the pilot's chair, oh, anywhere between one to two thousand times. Give or take a few hundred.

Bishop stood behind Hank, hovering over his shoulder as he piloted the jet. Watching Hank's every move like a hawk.

Bishop had everyone on pins and needles. Hank loved the guy. Hard not to. There was something innately pure and sincere about Lucas.

Unfortunately, it was that same passion and brutal honesty that could drive a man to obsession. Hank had no doubt Bishop could lead. He'd been doing it most of his life. Probably since he was a toddler.

Heh. Bishop as a toddler. There was an image. He'd play laser tag with a bazooka.

Hank knew Bishop was born to lead. He just wasn't sure he was born to lead the X-Men.

Hank scratched his eyelid. He didn't have to have eyes in the back of his head to know Bishop saw it and was formulating some type of mental notes on Hank's millisecond of inefficiency.

Bishop wanted so badly to do a good job and make the professor proud, or at least not ashamed, that he was suffocating his teammates. Bobby and Jubilee were uncharacteristically quiet for the bulk of the trip.

Well, to be fair, this wasn't a normal mission. Well, to be even fairer, what mission is normal? Regardless, perhaps they were soaking in the gravity of what they had all been called to do. Hank gave them the benefit of the doubt. After all, it wasn't simply about getting the mission done this time. The clock was ticking. Sand draining in humanity's hourglass. And if they were to have a chance at survival, they'd need Cortez to do what he does best. Talk.

Emma was her usual ambivalent self. Or the ambivalent self she loved to portray. Her legs folded, eyes closed. A demure, bored expression written all over her limp face as if the whole world was a television and she had the remote.

The difference this time was she wasn't in the copilot's seat. No. Bishop had marked that for himself. Even though he took it upon himself to stand for ninety-nine percent of the journey.

Emma and Warren were polar opposites. She looked bored but Hank knew she was quietly observing everything and everyone down to the minute details.

 _Astute as always, dear,_ Emma telepathically said to Hank.

Warren on the other hand, he carried his emotions like they were extra metallic feathers. He read and reread the briefing for the mission about a dozen times. By now he had to be an expert on Chilean geography and sociology.

Bishop hadn't moved an inch since take off an hour ago. He was a stone statue with a frozen stare of judgment etched on his face like the "M" tattooed over his eye. Better yet, Bishop was Ahab, glassy eyed with his hands clasped proudly behind his back, bent on making sure his dullard rower stayed on track.

It was understandable. Hank had only been flying the Blackbird since before Bishop was even born.

Literally.

Not like Hank knew what he was doing or anything.

The Blackbird cut across the bronze rays of the afternoon sun inland past the Northwestern coast of Chile. Pristine, snow-capped volcanoes outlined the breathtaking horizon.

"And we're supposed to find Cortez in all that?" Bobby gazed out the window.

"Welcome to the haystack, dear," Emma said.

"Heh," Bobby chuckled, "how many times has a girl said that to you, Hank?"

Jubilee laughed. "Ha! Nice, Drake."

Beast didn't respond. It wasn't easy concentrating on the menial task of playing taxi driver with Bishop breathing down Hank's neck.

"Calling Dr. Mccoy, calling Dr. Mccoy," Bobby said.

"Hm?" Hank stammered, "Oh. Indubitably."

Emma rolled her eyes at Bobby. "How droll. You make Leeland and Pierce look like latter day Rogers and Hammerstein."

"Who and what now?" Jubilee said.

Hank didn't mean anything he was thinking. He wanted to take it back. Piloting the Blackbird wasn't menial. He loved being part of the team. Flying especially was one of the perks. Sometimes he'd take the old girl out under the auspices of running diagnostics just so he could log some hours in the sky. Usually it was peaceful. Serene.

"Bring her down, Mccoy. We're here," Bishop barked.

Hank glared at Bishop out the corner of his eye. "It would be my pleasure, skipper. Anything in the name of the XSE."

The Blackbird glided over the city skyline, past the rural countryside, deep into a labyrinthine trail of valleys pouring from the looming volcanoes.

"Cut the cute comments, Mccoy. That goes for you as well, Drake," Bishop said.

"Sure, Dad," Bobby mumbled.

"We're here on a mission. Let's act like it for once," Bishop said.

"About time someone said it…" Warren jumped in, "…we can't afford to fail this time."

Bishop nodded at Archangel.

Jubilee eased back in her chair, seatbelt off, and kicked her feet up. "I don't get why we're even wasting our time coming here. We all know Cortez'll probably already be dead by the time we get there. He's always dead."

"Truth," Bobby said.

"Cerebro was able to isolate Cortez to somewhere within this region. Finding him won't be the issue. Getting him to talk will," Warren said.

"And talk on our terms," Hank added.

Bishop turned to Emma. "We don't have time for games. Once we locate Cortez, rip the information from his head, Frost, and we'll head back to the Mansion."

Emma perked up, "Oooh, this may well prove far more interesting than I imagined."

"You cannot be serious, Bishop," Hank spoke up.

"Yeah, B, don't we normally leave the extreme human right's violations to the bad guys?" Jubilee said.

"Oh, please. And here I thought Storm was the theatrical X-Man," Emma said.

"Heh, the drama X-Man is definitely onboard, but she's in a girdle," Jubilee snapped back.

"If I had asked Frost to do that to a civilian for information, I would be out of line. But Cortez forsook that right when he chose to be a criminal. The X-Men aren't jumping through hoops anymore. Cortez is on our time," Bishop said.

"To be fair, how many times have we broken the law?" Bobby said.

"Almost as many times as Cortez's died," Jubilee said.

"Ha! Call back," Bobby said, "But yeah, I mean, who are we to say who has what rights?"

"What would you recommend we do instead then? Do what we always do? Like Bishop said, jump through Cortez's hoops until he either makes a mistake or one of us dies, God forbid? Time's against us. Every minute we waste trying to negotiate with that little madman could mean lives being lost." Warren turned to face the window. "You're not allowed to criticize unless you are willing to offer a solution."

"It seems the Angel has finally seen the light," Emma said.

"So essentially, Warren…" Hank stared at the Blackbird's windshield, his face ever so clear in its reflection. "…You are postulating that the X-Men's goals and motivations are virtuous, but our ethical deliberation inhibits us from achieving our potential?"

"Exactly," Warren said.

"Just wanted to clarify that, Exodus…" Hank cleared his throat, "…er, Warren."

"Hank…" Warren walked over to Beast and put his hand on his shoulder, "we've been here the longest…"

"And Bobby," Hank interjected.

"You know what I mean, of the core X-Men…" Warren said.

Bobby abruptly exhaled like someone knocked the wind out of him.

"You, Me, Scott, and Jean have seen and been through a lot," Warren continued, "and after all that, you cannot honestly tell me you're happy with the way things have turned out?"

Bishop's towering shadow casted over Beast.

"No argument there," Hank said.

"It'll get easier, Mccoy. Trust me," Bishop said, "I could have said it a better way. I apologize. When we find Cortez, Emma will scan his mind and learn everything he knows about Exodus."

Bishop took a deep breath. "I said it more violently at first than was necessary. I just want everything to go right, and when you're anxious you fall back on instincts."

"We're all a little anxious, B," Jubilee said softly.

"I wouldn't go that far, dear," Emma said.

"We're a team, Hank. Just because we disagree doesn't mean we don't value your opinion," Warren said.

"X-Men fight. It's what we do. Villains even, sometimes," Bobby said. There was a slight quiver to his voice. Like an actor on stage for the first time in front of a crowd.

Hank kept his eyes on the sky. The Blackbird hovered over the volcano range.

"I'll set her down in that valley to the north. From there we should have a better opportunity to pinpoint Cortez on foot," Hank said.

"Hank…" Warren said.

"There certainly is more here than these dreadful volcanoes would imply. I'm sensing several mutant signatures all around," Emma said.

"Then let's introduce ourselves," Warren said.

The Blackbird drifted toward a flat valley intersecting two volcanoes.

Emma scrunched her face. "Henry, pull up!"

Hank instinctively pulled up on the controls. An emotive Emma Frost was not something to second guess.

The jet jerked higher into the air. A blazing fireball hurtled into the sky, missing the Blackbird by mere feet.

"My word!" Hank yelled.

"Have I mentioned how much I hate flying recently?" Bobby said.

"Where'd it come from?" Jubilee said.

"Ground level. But I sense hostiles in every direction," Emma said.

"Archangel, Iceman, draw their fire away from the Blackbird until we're able to land," Bishop said.

"Done!" Warren said.

Bobby sheathed his body in ice and joined Warren at the jet's hatch.

"Jubilation, I'd suggest this would be a good time to proverbially strap in," Hank said.

"Way ahead of you, blue boy." Jubilee buckled herself in her chair.

Beast punched the controls to open the side hatch.

Warren slipped gracefully out the hatch and spread his angelic, steel wings like feathered gates in the open air.

Bobby glided through the hatch on his signature ice slide behind Warren. A second, sizzling fireball rocketed from the ground toward Bobby.

"Bobby!" Warren's blue eyes burned red in the oncoming fireball's reflection.

Iceman quickly curved his ice slide to evade the fireball. Its searing heat narrowly missed Bobby, but shattered his ice slide in half.

"Aargh!" Iceman grunted as he tumbled in the air.

Warren dashed back to catch his falling friend. He was a blue and purple missile locked on Iceman. He grabbed Bobby's forearm, but Bobby's icy pseudo skin slipped through Warren's fingers.

Bobby smirked as he plummeted faster.

"Damn it, Bobby!" Warren yelled.

"Wooooooorth it!" Bobby yelled back and reverted his arm back to flesh.

Warren swooped down and snatched Bobby by the arm. He flapped his mighty wings to soar back into the sky.

Another fireball rifled toward them. Warren barrel rolled out the way, but the Blackbird was not so fortunate.

The blast slammed into the left engine and erupted in a fiery explosion that sent the smoky jet spiraling back toward the side of the volcano.

Bobby quickly tapped his breast communicator. "Hank! Hank!"

Warren's eyes feverishly surveyed the rocky terrain for any sign of their attackers. The dusty valley and craggy rock inlets surrounding the volcano range were completely desolate.

 _Henry's… occupied at the moment, but we're all alive. Warren, Robert, there are too many of them, wait until we land and we will regroup._ Emma telepathically shouted.

Warren twisted and turned in every direction, but he couldn't make out anyone.

"I don't…" Warren began.

 _See anyone? One of their powers obviously must be a form of cloaking._

"And fire. Definitely, definitely fire," Bobby said.

"Then let's give them some of our own!" Warren fired a flurry of metallic wing tips in every direction.

"Aaaah!" A woman screamed in agony from below Warren and Bobby.

"There!" Bobby pointed to the ground.

In an instant, an army of men and women popped into view, scattered all around the volcanoes. From Warren's vantage point, they were shadows and shades scurrying all around.

One woman dropped to her knees, her body trembling from a steel wing tip lodged in her shoulder.

"Nice shootin', Tex," Bobby said.

"She must've been cloaking them. They're confused. Now's our chance to strike!" Warren seethed.

"Or help the others land," Iceman said.

"We can do both." Warren bulleted toward the side of the volcano at a cluster of mutants in battle stances waiting for Warren. Dozens of metallic feathers shot from Warren's wings and flayed the skin of his targets.

"Sounds like a plan." Bobby crafted another ice slide and sped toward the Blackbird. The harsh smell of smoke alone was enough to follow the trail of the fuming plane.

"Why the hell didn't I ever pay attention when Jean would do this?" Bobby said to himself.

Bobby crept closer to the underside of the jet until the ruptured engine was only a few feet from his face. He had to constantly drop the temperature of his body to prevent his skin from melting off.

"Here goes…" Bobby muttered and concentrated a beam of ice onto the damaged engine. "C'mon…"

The flames weakened under the constant stream of ice until the smoke lessened and lessened and…

"Yes!" Bobby pumped his fist at the sight of the engine freezing. "Up to you now, Hank, you got this!"

The dilapidated jet tilted on its right side like a man on one crutch. It curved in a semicircle away from the volcano until it turned one hundred eighty degrees toward the heart of the valley.

Hank wrestled the controls to level the turbulent jet as best as he could.

"I'm going to try and touch her down, brace for impact!" Hank yelled.

"Brace for lunch…" Jubilee held her stomach and made retching noises.

"That way, dear," Emma encased her body in diamond and pointed to the back of the cabin.

The Blackbird extended its landing gear and cut deeper into valley, about ten miles from the volcano formations. The tapered jet slammed onto the rocky makeshift landing strip. Its wheels screeched and slid wildly like an elephant on ice until it juddered to a full stop.

Hank huffed with short, choppy breaths like a smoker puffing a burnt out cigarette butt.

"I…I would like to take this opportunity to remind everyone that flying is statistically still the safest means of travel," Hank said, holding his chest.

"Everyone report!" Bishop unbuckled himself and sprang to his feet.

"Bloody hell…" Emma gazed at a smear of reddish orange fluid on her diamond skin, "Jubilation, you had best hope you didn't…" Emma glanced at Jubilee then jumped from her seat, "Oh, God!"

"Jubilee!" Bishop shouted and ran to her seat.

Her head dangled on its side. Splotches of blood soaked the back of her headrest. Her short, ink black hair was drenched in blood dripping onto the steel floor like ticks of a clock.

"No…no, no, no," Hank shook his head in disbelief and pounced toward Jubilee.

He pressed his palm sized fingertips against her carotid artery.

"How is she?" Emma asked.

Shadows lanced past the Blackbird's window in a blur. Hank turned, startled. Nothing.

Metal banged against metal with a shrill clang from outside.

Hank's heart nearly jumped out his chest.

Someone, something was pounding against the jet's skeleton. Hank and Bishop faced each other.

"They've got us surrounded," Bishop said.

"Hank…" Emma tugged at Beast's arm to bring him back to Jubilee, "…how is she?"


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

 **Manhattan**

Soft drops of rain kissed Scott's shades. The gentle mist clouded his ruby red tinted vision.

But Scott could see.

His mind's eye could see perfectly clear. From the funky perfumes masking the stench of dry urine to the waves of profanity pounding in and out of his ears like a furious tide; it was Manhattan.

Loud. Obnoxious. Crowded Manhattan.

He'd give anything to be at his Grandparents ranch in Alaska. Where a man could breathe. Think even.

Scott removed his glasses. The cool evening drizzle splashed against his shut eyelids as he wiped his glasses.

He'd give anything.

A trickle of rain seeped into his eye. He blinked.

Scott already gave up everything to not be at his Grandparents ranch in Alaska.

It was his choice.

Maddie begged him to stay. Maybe more accurately, she begged him not to go. Maybe she knew their marriage was over already. She was a smart girl. Knew a hell of a lot more than Scott ever gave her credit for.

And she was smart enough to know, even if their relationship was fading, Alaska was still where Scott needed to be.

With his son.

Scott chose to walk out. No one made him. Sinister didn't put a knife to his throat. Magneto didn't magnetically pry him from his family. Scott pretty much handed baby Nathan to Apocalypse the second he walked out.

Now Scott was here. Downtown Manhattan. Waiting with his teammates, along with literally thousands of smug, affluent blue bloods, to be ushered into the Gershwin theatre.

Odd he thought of them as teammates first. Scott was always the first to say the X-men were a family. And they were. Jean, Anna, Betsy…and to a lesser extent Gambit.

Just hard to shake being an orphan. Even in his early thirties, Scott was still that lonely kid in the orphanage without a family of his own. Just bigger shoes to fill now.

Scott never cared much for Broadway or shows. Most of the time when Jean, Maddie, or Lee would drag him out to a show he'd find himself drifting in and out, imagining different angles to bounce optic blasts off to hit different actors.

Especially operas. One time he found seventeen different angles to take down the fat lady.

Jean would always encourage Scott and tell him to relax and just be himself when they went out. She'd tell him he didn't need to obsess over how to protect himself all the time.

But… that was Scott. Jean might have been the telepath, but Scott was the one who truly knew how to disappear inside the human mind.

Jean reached over and kissed the droplets of rain collecting under Scott's eye.

"Don't cry, hun," Jean teased and looked up and down his gauche, plaid red and black suit, "You don't look that bad. Besides, now we can play checkers anytime we want."

"Hilarious," Scott said and put his shades back on.

Jean wrapped her arms around Scott.

"So cute, this one!" Jean playfully grabbed Scott's nose.

"Aw," Anna mused.

Bless her, Anna was adorable. Sometimes Scott wished he could just wave his hand and make all her dreams come true. Lord knows if anyone on this miserable Earth deserved it, it was Anna.

She was dressed in a lavish, lavender ballroom dress with a deep purple parasol and white gloves. It was hard to tell who was more out of touch with fashion, Scott or Anna? At least in Scott's mind, he didn't particularly care what he wore or what people thought of him. Scott wasn't so sure about Anna.

"Ain't this excitin'?!" Anna spun in slow motion, soaking up the wonderment of the New York skyline, "The lights, a dern Broadway show…Fi'nlly, the X-Men get ta experience some real culture for a change."

Gambit lit a cigarette.

"Dis ain't culture, Chere. Dis waitin' outside inna rain." He tossed his match. "And Gambit don' wait for nobody."

"I'm with Gambit…" Betsy said.

She paused and looked off to the side like she just processed what she said.

"…That felt weird to say. But the world might be coming to an end and we're stuck here waiting to see Disney on Ice." Betsy folded her arms.

"A Streetcar Named Desire," Anna corrected.

"Same thing. I should be on the Blue team hunting Cortez. This is a damn waste of time," Betsy said.

"Well if'n ya'll feel you should be somewhere else, then somewhere else is where ya'll should be. Ah don't see any anchors 'round anyone's hides," Anna said.

"I couldn't agree more." Betsy exited the line in front of the theatre and began walking off.

Betsy had become so volatile recently. It had been such a subtle progression that Scott hadn't noticed until the Professor recommended she be placed on the Red Team. Storm, Jean, and Scott himself unanimously had her positioned for the Blue Team. Her warrior creed had evolved beyond tendencies and vocation into her entire identity. She seemed like a perfect fit for their experiment with Bishop as leader of a more militant strike force.

The Professor vetoed it.

Same reason why he vetoed Jubilee on the Red Team, which happened to be the only other unanimous pick by Jean, Storm, and Scott.

When the Professor looked at his X-Men, his students, he always treated them as the person they could become. Not necessarily who they were. Scott knew that and typified that more than any of the others. From day one, the Professor treated Scott with the same level of trust and confidence the president would bestow on a decorated general. He viewed Scott as if Scott was Cable.

That faith the Professor placed in him meant the world to Scott. It defined him.

The Professor probably wanted the same for Jubilee and Betsy. It was easy to see how Jubilee could slip further into her routine of underachieving being on a team with Gambit. Likewise, Betsy might go off the deep end under Bishop's warrior centric leadership.

It was hard for even Scott to remember how Betsy used to be. Gentle, thoughtful. Now she always seemed so annoyed. Eager for combat and short on patience. Maybe being around Jean, Anna, and Gambit would help her relax a bit and rekindle her sense of humor and even humanity.

So far?

Not so much.

"Betsy!" Jean called out. "I know how you feel. We all do. But we have to do this. We promised to be here. We've never gone back on our word before, and I won't let us start now."

The line started moving. The five hundred people in front of the Red Team filed in like an army of fire ants.

"It's a moot point now. We're going in," Scott said.

They entered the lobby, begrudgingly joined by Psylocke dragging her invisible cement shoes.

Rogue patted her damp hair.

"Question, Chere. Why you bring de umbrella if you ain't gon' use it?" Gambit asked.

"Same reason you were carryin' on outside 'bout not waitin' fer nuthin'." Anna smirked. "Fer show."

"Gambit buy a ticket for dat show," he grinned.

"Heh. Ya'll wouldn't be able ta afford that ticket, swamp rat," Anna said.

"Alright people, we're dealing with a lot of unknowns here. We don't know where, when, or if an attack might come. Stay sha-…" Scott said.

"AAAAAAAAAAAA!" a woman screamed from the back of the line.

A vicious pack of screaming, tear-filled girls as young as twelve and as old as eighty rushed past Scott and his friends. The estrogen stampede almost toppled Gambit on their way to reach an entourage that stepped off the elevator in the lobby.

"Mon dieu!" Gambit shuffled his feet to keep his balance. "Monsieur Beast have less rats in his lab."

One elderly lady, whose powdered makeup looked like someone clapped erasers in her face, shoved Scott to the side with her huri-cane.

"Outta the way, queer!" The distinguished, elderly woman kindly elucidated to Scott.

Charming woman.

Scott rubbed his shoulder.

Ugh. New York.

What was the point in fighting for mutant rights when humans couldn't even get along with themselves? He was asking people to run when they hadn't learned to crawl yet. Queer? Really? After all this time…those old, old prejudices were like scabs on a child's arm. Only a matter of time until they pick at it and reopen the wound.

Nothing heals. Nothing goes away.

Scott adjusted his shades.

Starting to sound like Magneto.

The old lady didn't mean anything by it. Just ignorance. Eighty years of ignorance.

"Now who in tarnations could whip this ol' crowd up in a frenzy like this?" Anna said.

"I think we're about to find out," Jean said.

The entourage headed toward the X-Men. A perimeter of body guards encircled someone and swatted away the pestering fans like flies. Probably protecting one of the actors or celebrities in attendance. Scott wouldn't know. He didn't keep up much with pop culture. Someone famous could walk right beside him and he wouldn't recognize their face.

The membrane of body guards parted in front of the Red Team like the Red Sea. Rio Vaughn shot out like a pinball.

"Scott! Jean!" Rio Vaughn ran over and hugged them both.

Scott glanced down awkwardly, not reciprocating the twenty-something year old actor's embrace.

Rio wasn't the tallest cup of coffee. Crown of his head reached to about maybe Scott's shoulder. Then again, Scott was pretty tall. And most actors, to his understanding, were much smaller than on television.

"Thank you so much for coming, you guys have no idea how much this means to me!" Rio Vaughn beamed.

"No, thank you for inviting us, we're honored," Jean said.

"How are Kitty, Kurt, and Storm? I was hoping to get to see them," Rio said.

"Oh, they're…fine...They send their regards," Scott said.

Vaughn had undeniable good looks. He was blessed in that department. It was no wonder so many of the girls were in full sobs the second he appeared. He was like a shorter, jet black haired Longshot without the mullet. Vaughn had shimmering, neatly cropped hair combed to the side.

Vaughn eased his death grip on Scott and Jean and turned to Anna.

"God, Rogue, you look absolutely as stunning as ever!" Vaughn gave Rogue a tender hug. "Let me look at you! I love your hair like this! When did you grow it out?" Vaughn admired Rogue's lush auburn and white hair flowing down her back.

"Er…it's…been a minute, sugah," Anna said, blushing.

A sixteen year old girl broke through the blockade of body guards and snatched Rio by the back of his collar.

"AAAAHHH LOVE YOU!" The girl screeched and burst into tears.

Rio jumped back like a wet cat. His body guard quickly hauled the girl off him.

Rio dusted his shirt and adjusted his collars. "C'mon, I'll show you guys your luxury suite, and we can catch u more there! Out here's maybe not the…ideal place for old friends to talk."

Knowing the X-Men was one thing. But old friends? Scott never took his eyes off Vaughn as he and his bodyguards escorted the Red Team to the private staff elevator.

"Luxury suite…" Gambit perked up, "…Now dis is culture, Chere." He whispered to Anna.

Rio turned to Gambit.

"I'm so terribly sorry, sir," Rio said, "I didn't know you were an X-Man. I thought you were just some guy. I am so sorry."

Rio apologetically reached out to shake Gambit's hand.

"De name is Gambit. Remember it." Gambit shook his hand.

Rio's face went flush.

"Gambit? Oh…er…um, pleasure to meet you, sir," Rio said.

The elevator door opened.

Rio stepped to the side to let the Red Team board. His eyes lingered on Betsy as he entered the elevator.

"May I help you?" Besty said.

The elevator gracefully ascended two floors. Rio squinted at Betsy the entire time. It was like Michelangelo staring at the picture inside a slab of marble.

"I know you…" Rio said.

"That makes one of us," Betsy said under her breath.

"Be nice, Betsy," Jean said.

"Betsy…Psylocke!" Rio exclaimed proudly and went to hug Besty. "God, look at you! This is amazing! You had the procedure too!?"

"I've had a lot of things done. None of which I'd call a procedure," Betsy leered back from Rio.

"And exactly what procedure are ya'll talkin' about?" Anna said to Rio.

The elevator stopped. Fourth floor. The doors opened to a grand corridor. Rio led them past one suite labeled "B" down the hall to the "A" suite.

"Here we are! My gift to you! The Uncanny suite for my dear friends, the X-Men!" Rio proudly opened the doors.

Scott and his friends entered into a magnificent luxury box with spotless white leather sofas and a breathtaking view of the stage below. Gambit immediately stretched out on the leather sofa.

"Incredible," Jean said in awe, "I didn't even know Gershwin had luxury suites."

"They were donated about a year ago. I knew you guys would love it!" Rio said.

"It's a very nice gesture," Scott cleared his throat, "We apologize, Mr. Vaughn, but… we can't say we've ever met you before. Now what business do you have with the X-Men?" Scott said.

"It's me!" Rio said, his eyes wide with hope and expectation, "You know, Nebo! Nebo Giffel!"

"I'm done," Betsy threw her hands in the air.

"Hmm…" Jean said, "…Does sound familiar…Nebo Giffel…Nebo Giffel…"

"Ah'd think ah'd remember a name like that," Anna said.

"Ah, if Kitty and Storm were here they'd never let you hear the end of this one! I can't believe you guys don't recognize me! I mean, I get why, but now that we've been to talking I was sure you guys would remember," Rio said.

"Sorry, sugah, ah wish we did," Anna said.

Rio ran his fingers through his silky black hair.

"Wow, you guys really don't know me," he sighed.

"Nebogipfel!" Jean blurted out. "I knew I heard it before. I was so excited when I found out they were doing a sequel to the Time Machine years ago. Nebogipfel was the name of one of the…"

Jean paused.

"Morlocks! You remembered!" Rio almost jumped out of his shoes in excitement.

He squished Jean in a bear hug.

"De Morlocks…great…" Gambit muttered. Sounded like there was a frog in his throat.

Scott, Betsy, and Rogue had expressions as blank as a white sheet of paper.

"Oh, c'mon!" Rio said, "Nebo! You remember me. Short guy, covered in fur, kinda shy. You know, I was the one always hanging out with Sunder."

"Oooooh," Anna said, "Wait. No. Ah'm thinkin' a Masque."

"I guess I don't really blame you guys for not remembering me…I didn't stand out much then. I didn't like to take part in any of their missions. Most Morlocks were decent, every day people. We just didn't fit in anywhere else," Rio said.

"Until you had the procedure you mentioned earlier," Scott said.

"Musta been one heck'va facelift," Anna said.

Rio laughed. "Pretty much. But no, it was actually great. After the…massacre…you guys saved my life. Ms. Mactaggert was so good to us. She nursed us all back to health. And after that, I kind of went my own way. I drifted for a bit, not wanting to be defined my entire life as a mutant."

"Ah heard that," Anna said.

"Yeah, you know, I'm a person," Rio continued, "We all are. I'm not just the color of my skin or gender or being a mutant. I was always an artist. Even when I was a kid I would put on shows for my parents. Then with the Morlocks. Same thing. Sunder and I would kick back sometimes and put on our own little shows. Some of the best performances I gave were back in those days."

"Those must have been good times," Jean said.

"The best. See, on stage I could be anyone. I didn't have to just be the mutant. When Marrow came back from the Hill, she contacted me about joining Gene Nation. Sure, I was angry and vengeful at the world. At humanity. But I was more tired. Tired of limiting who I was. Tired of defining myself solely based on how people saw me.

I like being a mutant. I'm proud of being a mutant. But I'm not just a mutant. I had to tell Marrow no. It was the hardest thing I ever did. And the most freeing. After that, I started seriously acting. Small stuff here and there. Not too many roles for typecast mutants. But one guy, one guy loved my work off-off-off-off Broadway.

He told me, young man, your ability to control the audience and weave them into the marvelous illusion of drama and comedy is a true work of art. He introduced me to his partners and they told me about a new cosmetic procedure for mutants. It changed my life."

"I'd like to hear more about that procedure, if you don't mind," Scott said.

"I know it sounds awful, like selling out or whatever, but it's not. It didn't change or affect my powers or anything like that. It was a short procedure. They use advanced laser surgery to remove excess hair, bone, or pigmentation defects that are side-effects of some mutations."

"Interestin'," Anna said.

"Your benefactors sound like pretty powerful people," Jean said.

"They're here tonight, I'd love for you to meet them! They're like the X-Men, they're doing great things for the advancement of the mutant race." Rio motioned to the suite's doorway.

Footsteps. Clacks of polished heels against the marble tile corridor floor grew louder.

"Mister Summers…" the smarmy, mellifluous, English accent said.

"No." Scott clenched his fists. His knuckles blanched.

"…Don't leave so soon, we've just arrived," Jason Wyngarde said.

Strutting into the suite behind Jason Wyngarde were Sebastian Shaw, Harry Leeland, Donald Pierce, Selene, and, and…

Scott's drawn fists unraveled like pulling the string on a knot. His heart stopped.

"Maddie…?" Scott mouthed.

Madelyne Pryor entered last and draped herself around Mastermind's arm.

"These days I prefer White Queen, Scottie," Madelyne said.

"The Inner Circle!" Rogue shouted and took to the air.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

 **Chile**

Hank cradled Jubilee's limp body. Crimson blood gushed from the back of her skull, dying his fur a paisley purple.

Hank rubbed the sweat from his brow. It was like acid in his eyes.

The hammering wails outside the Blackbird weren't helping. Hank's fur stood on edge with every pound on the jet's door. Their attackers had them surrounded, but Hank wasn't going anywhere.

Jubilee needed intensive care. Judging from the lacerations on the back of her head and neck, she needed it ten minutes ago.

If they were in the Mansion… if they were even in a hundred miles radius of the Mansion, Hank would know exactly what to do. He knew precisely where all his supplies were down to the last package of gauze.

That familiarity meant minutes. Precious minutes that could be saved, precious minutes that might add up to the difference between life and death. For this poor girl, his friend, his little buddy, the latter was not an option.

The Blackbird's med bay was almost as familiar to Hank as the Mansion's infirmary, except for one vital difference. The Mansion's infirmary wasn't damaged in the crash. The Blackbird's was.

Beads of sweat rolled in and out of the valleys of fur along Hank's grimaced face.

"Emma, med bay, how are we looking?" Hank asked.

Emma quickly stood up from her kneeling position beside Jubilee. The jet rocked violently side to side as soon as she did. Their pursuers sounded like bulls ramming the side of the jet.

Emma tumbled back to the ground from the jet's sudden shake.

"Enough!" Emma held her fingers to her temples and reverted from diamond form to harness her telepathic energy.

"Stay focused! We don't want to attack until we know exactly what we're up against!" Bishop said.

"I've never been more focused. Anyone hurts my students, they're a vegetable for life," Emma said.

"She's not a child, Frost, and not your student anymore. She's an X-Man," Bishop said sternly.

Emma glared at Bishop momentarily before shutting her eyes again to concentrate.

"Dear, past or otherwise, she'll always be my student," Emma said.

Emma normally seemed so poised and nonchalant when she used her power. She had done such a triumphant job of suppressing her emotions that it was easy to forget the White Queen even had any. But Hank saw in her tightly shut eyes and clenched jaw, Emma Frost was anything but predictable.

Emma angrily snapped from her telepathic trance and slammed her hammer fist onto the floor of the jet.

"It's no use. Whoever these Neanderthals are, they have psychic blocks implanted in their minds. I cannot control them," Emma said.

"We have more pressing issues at hand…" Hank brushed Jubilee's blood sopped hair out of her face, "...perhaps we can reason with our pursuers."

A shuddering plasma rifle blast ripped through the side of the Blackbird. Emma and Bishop ducked while Beast covered Jubilee's prone body with his. The blast landed inches from their heads.

"My word!" Beast yelled.

The scalding heat of the energy blast singed the longest strands of his fur. On top of that, shrapnel from the blast pelted Beast's back like a hail storm of molten iron.

"Plasma rifles!?" Bishop yelled in disbelief.

Five Chilean guerillas crammed into the makeshift doorway on the east wing of the jet. Their blood splattered ponchos and brimmed tan sunhats obfuscated their ages and genders. Hank rubbed debris from his brow and blinked harder.

They could have been anywhere from eighteen to forty, male or female. The only things Hank could clearly make out about these five guerillas were their plasma assault rifles, aimed squarely at Hank and his teammates.

The guerilla in front of the pack fired his gun. The scorching plasma shot exploded an inch from Beast's toenails. He sprang back against the west wall of the jet.

"Man alive! We have a wounded person! She needs medical attention immediately!" Beast yelled.

"Don't take your eyes off the outsiders!" the lead guerrilla said with masculine bass. His body was a dark silhouette of a man behind a gun.

"What are they speaking, Mccoy? I thought Spanish was the national language here," Bishop asked.

"Hmm, judging by the conjugation and verb usage, I would hazard to say I have absolutely no Earthly idea," Hank said.

"Quechuan, dear. It's the only information I could mine from the ones that attacked Warren and Bobby," Emma said.

"Silence!" the lead guerrilla barked and thrust his rifle in Hank's face.

Bishop stepped forward.

"We're here looking for a man named Cortez! Cortez!" Bishop shouted.

The guerrillas stopped like statues. Their leader spat on the floor and pointed his rifle between Jubilee's eyes.

He fired.

Bishop leapt in front of Hank and Jubilee. The plasma energy rammed into Bishop's chest and burned a hole through his X-uniform. Bishop dropped to the floor from the brutal impact. Cinders of flesh and steam rose from his battered chest.

The guerrillas looked on in equal parts horror and amazement at Bishop writhing on the ground.

With a devilish grin, Bishop lifted his head. His wide eyed, purple gaze locked on the lead guerrilla, and Bishop fired all the absorbed energy back at the lead guerrilla two-fold.

The concussive blast slammed into the lead guerrilla's chest and rocketed him out the hole on the side of the Blackbird.

The remaining four guerrillas quickly fanned out and cornered Hank, Emma, and Jubilee. Four rifles aimed at Jubilee.

"Emma, I think I speak for everyone when I say we would all be forever in your debt if you would telepathically teach us all Quechuan," Hank said.

"Henry, dear, what do you think I've been trying to do all this time?" Emma said.

In an instant, Hank's mind flooded with a lifetime of grammar for a language he did not know existed until ninety seconds ago.

"We mean you no trouble, we have an injured person that needs help urgently. Please help us, we are not your enemies!" Hank said his first words of Quechuan.

"We're looking for a man named Fabian Cortez! It's a matter of life and death that we speak to him!" Bishop shouted.

"Please," Hank said.

The four guerrillas paused.

"They lie. They've already lied about not knowing Chechuan," one finally said.

"Spies!" the second said.

"Not spies…Mutants," the third said.

"…We will take them to Tomas," the fourth guerrilla said.

He shoved Emma toward the hole in the jet with his rifle. "Go!"

"In this weather? You most certainly must be joking," Emma scoffed.

The guerrillas cocked their plasma rifles, motioning Emma, Beast, and Bishop to exit the Blackbird into the jungle. Hank carried Jubilee's unconscious body in his arms.

Her pulse was weak but consistent. She needed help. She needed him. But there wasn't a surgery in the world he could perform in a jungle with four plasma rifles on him. Perhaps they could reason with this Tomas.

 _Henry…_ Emma telepathically said.

 _Weak, but stable, thank heavens._

 _Protect her…_

 _Oh, I was talking about myself. Jubilee's fine._

 _Lord, Henry._

 _She just needs-…_

One of the guerrillas jammed the nozzle of his rifle into Hank's back to prod him forward.

"Move!" the guerrilla bark.

The guerrillas marched them through the jungle toward a desolate village, never taking their aim off their captives. Thatched, brick houses that might have been their homes once reeked of charcoal and ash. Their roofs had been torched to dust with shadows the size of infants burned into the decayed walls.

"Oh my stars and garters…" Hank mumbled to himself.

"Silence!" the rear guerrilla yelled and bashed the butt of his rifle into Hank's hip.

"Mccoy!" Bishop turned.

The guerrillas quickly focused their aim solely on Jubilee, helpless in Hank's trembling hands.

"Argh…no worries, Bishop," Hank muttered.

Maybe if he could convince Emma and Bishop that Jubilee was going to be alright, maybe Hank would start to believe it himself.

Hank pushed forward at the behest of his ever so gentle captors. With every footstep came the sickening slick pitter of his heels against the muddy trail. It was almost identical to the sound of Creed spitting salivated tobacco into a bucket, or more accurately, the Mansion walls during his brief stay years prior. How he even smuggled snuff in the Mansion was a great unsolved mystery.

The shattered gleam in his wide eyes lingered on the razed, meek little village in this forgotten valley. The twitchy alertness of the guerrillas told Hank everything he needed to know. It was like watching squirrels eat. The guerrillas' eyes constantly shifted back and forth every second in anticipation of danger from any and everywhere. They clutched their weapons like a child would a blanket.

It was no life at all. But it was.

Theirs.

The very same life Hank and his friends fought against for his entire adult life.

Hank wanted to sigh. Maybe even cry. But he did neither. He just kept walking. Marching. To the beat and rhythm of ignorance and paranoia. Marching to orders that he might one day cure that ignorance and paranoia.

From the mutants who attacked the Blackbird, to these guerrillas, and the decimated village, the history here crystallized in Hank's mind.

He knew, here, he was stepping through his own life, his own struggle, in its most primitive, bottleneck fashion. At some point in the past this was probably a quaint, humble village. And then, as it always goes, civil war. Those mutants by the volcanoes and these humans in the valley were at war. Had to be.

War. Death. Destruction. Misery.

All for the same damn reason as it always it.

One was different from the other.

A mosquito pecked Hank's cheek. He scratched the area as best as he could with his shoulder as he carried Jubilee.

If only the X-Men were here earlier. If only they had been able to educate these people. Show them that mutants and humans can coexist peacefully. Hank could see it perfectly in his mind how it had to have happened. It wasn't a coincidence they were looking for Cortez here. That little insufferable madman probably happened upon this innocent hamlet and acted as his namesake.

He probably seized this opportunity for conquest to be king. He probably rallied the mutant population here to be his soldiers and enslave the humans. Knowing Mr. Cortez, he filled their poor little heads with empty promises of power and grandeur. Had to have fed them lies about being a master race and being entitled to rule. That would explain the human guerrillas' vitriolic response when Bishop uttered Cortez's hallowed name.

Still wouldn't explain the plasma rifles. Perhaps Cortez brought them with him and the humans managed to steal them at some point during the war. Only explanation.

The guerrillas saw the X-Men as the enemy, but Hank knew the truth. It wasn't the X-Men or the mutants by the volcanoes. The true enemy was the only thing in the valley the guerrillas couldn't point their guns at.

Ignorance was the enemy. Misinformation was the enemy. Hank knew the power in misinformation and, unfortunately, Hank knew Cortez did as well.

If only the X-Men had gotten here first. They could have gotten these people on the right track by teaching that mutants and humans can indeed peacefully coexist.

Hank blinked, the remorseless oven sun bore down on him like heaven's thumb.

Wherever he was, whatever he was doing, Hank was certain Exodus must be smiling right about now.

Hank's stomach knotted. It felt like the knot drew tighter with each step.

It sickened Hank to even consider agreeing with Exodus. He was a delusional sociopath bent on genocide.

Genocide.

The X-Men would never kill…

Hank looked off to the side. The clouds darkened. A light drizzle descended.

…Although they have.

But only in self-defense or when there was absolutely no alternative. Exodus wished to kill just to make things easier. That was the difference, Hank admitted to himself. The thin, but stringent difference between Exodus and the X-Men.

X-Men never took the easy way out. Maybe…Maybe a part of Hank agreed with Exodus' logic. Maybe.

In a lot of cases, Hank knew if the X-Men had just been wherever they needed to be first, before anyone else had the chance to poison the situation with misinformation, then things might be better. Maybe if the X-Men were there first, Mark Ferguson would still be alive.

It was a hell of a lot easier to write history than rewrite history.

"Stop! We wait here," one guerrilla yelled as they approached the entrance to a cave formation.

Three guerillas remained, holding the X-Men at gunpoint while the fourth guerilla slipped inside the cave.

"No argument there, dear," Emma said, wiping sweat from her forehead.

"I was unaware you could work up such a sweat, Frost," Bishop said, his face proudly glistening.

"Oh, I've been known to work up a lot of things, dear," Emma reached over to Bishop and gently removed a bead of sweat off the tip of Bishop's nose with her index finger.

Bishop swatted her finger away. "Including my last nerve."

Emma looked at him cross for a moment as if he had defamed the Mona Lisa, then grinned, "My apologies, next time I'll wear my Shi'ar feathers."

Bishop's face turned to iron.

"You read my mind," he said through his teeth.

"And then there were two for the infirmary," Hank said.

"I didn't read it, just skimmed the cover. And I liked what I saw," Emma said.

"Remember Frost. It's not Shaw or Summers you're talking to. You want power on this team, you earn it," Bishop said.

"Power? Dear, who said anything about power?" Emma said with a smirk. "Are we reading minds now?"

"I just skimmed the cover," Bishop said, looking up and down Emma, "and I never liked what I saw."

Emma's face ignited. "How impossibly rude! Henry! Are you hearing this?"

"Unfortunately," Hank said.

Emma tilted her chin to the sky and pouted her lips, "…Well, Mr. Bishop, I certainly underestimated you…" Emma glanced at Bishop for a second. A half smile crept over her face. "…You are far more fascinating than I ever gave you credit."

Emma was about as urban a person as Hank had ever met. Her waifish build and limp wrists always gave him the impression she would keel over and die at the mere thought of manual labor.

Yet, in many respects, Hank saw her as the ultimate cowboy. She, unlike anyone he had ever encountered, could tame any horse. The wildest of stallions had been deftly domesticated by Ms. Frost.

Her romances with Sebastian Shaw and Cyclops. Her friendships with Logan and even himself. Emma had that uncanny ability to disarm the most violent and guarded men and, be honest, control them.

Something inside her, more than likely a deeply rooted insecurity, drove Emma to always want, nay, need to control those who seemingly would control her. She loved to lead the leaders.

Bishop on the other hand, Bishop was an altogether different cookie. Although he was from the future, he was very much a throwback to a time and culture long gone.

Emma's charm and guile were useless against someone who completely separated his actions from his own personal desires. Bishop was almost entirely selfless, always putting the mission ahead of himself.

Well, almost. Bishop's balled expression when Emma alluded to Deathbird caught Hank by surprise. Hank was there when they connected. He piloted the ship for most of that ill-begotten expedition after all. He watched them bond and, in their own aggressive, insulated ways, romance one another. It was clear Bishop was fond of Deathbird. But…after all this time, for him to have such a visceral reaction to even an insinuation of Deathbird was rather unexpected.

Emma knew what buttons to press. And the challenge to break and control Bishop like a wild steer was a challenge Emma Frost could not resist. If anything, Emma craved it.

In all the time Emma had been his teammate, Hank was unsure if she ever truly desired anyone. She had loved Scott. There was no denying that. Hank could tell from the way her eyes would linger on Scott when he would talk. She adored him, whether she would admit it or not. And a part of her probably always will adore him.

But that love had to be on her terms.

Was that love? True love?

Had Emma ever been vulnerable in love? She was so guarded now. In a past life, she had to have been hurt pretty badly. It would be the only explanation for her lust for control.

There were so many secrets amongst the X-Men. They were a family alright. A family of past lives and hidden truths. Buried in the sands of time.

"Bring them!" a commanding voice bellowed from inside the cave.

The four guerrillas filed Hank and his friends into the torch lit cave. The crackling fire echoed off the cavernous walls as the X-Men pressed deeper into the cave until they reached the guerrilla camp.

The vast cave housed a hundred soldiers strewn about tents and wooden benches. Food seemed in short supply but rifles piled on top of one another on the benches and spilled out of each tent.

A warrior approached the Blue Team, plasma rifle in tow. He was built like a Proudstar, shoulders separated by about a mile and two mountains of muscle. He was the first of the guerillas that Hank could clearly make out their face. A blackened, third degree burn mark tattooed the warrior's left cheek down the side of his neck.

A hush fell over the guerillas as they waited for the warrior to speak. This must be the Tomas they mentioned.

Tomas glowered at Hank. It was like his pupils were shears, trimming away Hank's humanity until he was nothing more than a furry blue, mutant husk.

"Outsiders," Tomas said.

"Please, we mean you no harm, we have an injured person, she needs medical attention immediately! Please, help us!" Hank said.

Tomas lifted an eyebrow.

"Our people settled these volcanoes over five hundred years ago when the Spanish came and took the mainland. They gave our ancestors the choice to convert or move to the barren volcanoes to live undisturbed. We have lived here in isolation since. And now in the past three months, we have been visited twice by outsiders who seem to know our language perfectly. The first outsider to know our ways brought ruin and chaos. Are you here to finish his work?" Tomas said.

"Don't flatter yourself, dear. You're not the only people to speak Chechuan in the world," Emma said.

"I do not suffer insolence well, especially from mutants, mutant," Tomas sneered.

Even here, prejudice was just as strong as everywhere else on this godforsaken planet.

"We have come for the first outsider you mentioned, Cortez, " Bishop said with his authoritative baritone, "He is a criminal, and we are here to arrest him. We have no other business here."

"The outsider has already been arrested. He is my prisoner," Tomas said.

"Tremendous. If you would turn him over to us we will be eternally grateful and will leave your land post haste," Hank said.

"Your command of Chechuan is admirable, mutant, but your comprehension fails. He is _my_ prisoner," Tomas emphasized.

"We respect your position, and in that event, we only wish to speak wi-..." Hank said.

"With you to negotiate the terms of the outsider's release to us," Bishop quickly interrupted Hank.

Beast glanced at Bishop.

"There is no negotiation. Our terms are simple. Santo tells me you knocked out my best warrior with one blast. You are formidable and expendable. My…" Tomas said.

He took a deep breath.

"…Nephew…he is a prisoner of the mutants. He is only a boy. They have already killed the woman I loved… If you are able to return him to me, I will release the outsider to you," Tomas said.

"I demand to speak to the outsider before agreeing to your terms," Bishop said.

"Impossible. You have heard my terms. Take or leave them," Tomas said.

"Lucas, do not be rash…" Hank said to Bishop.

Bishop took a step toward Tomas. The guerillas locked onto Bishop. Lucas did not waver.

"Then you wish to ally only with fools, Tomas. Any true warrior would ensure the prisoner you allege to have is the man we are looking for. You seek formidable warriors to free your nephew? So do not begrudge us for demonstrating the traits you desire," Bishop said.

Tomas looked sternly into Bishop's eagle eyes.

"…Take these two to the prisoner." Tomas said to his men and pointed at Bishop and Emma.

"The girl will convalesce here while the three of you rescue my nephew, Franco. She will serve as added incentive to ensure you complete your mission," Tomas said.

"Wonderful, I can get my supplies from our ship and be back to fix her up in no time," Beast asked.

"That will not be necessary. We shall heal her here. Come, I shall show you our ways," Tomas said.

Hank followed Tomas to the north of the cave while four guerillas steered Bishop and Emma south.

Emma and Bishop navigated through a narrow tunnel to reach a dingy chamber inside the cave.

 _As soon as we reach Cortez, telepathically scan everything he knows about Exodus. Once they've healed Jubilee, the four of us are done here. We'll find Drake and Archangel and signal the Mansion for extraction._ Bishop telepathically said to Emma.

 _Not one for moral foreplay, are we, Mr. Bishop?_ Emma telepathically said.

 _These people's war is none of our concern. We get the information then get our people out. Done._ Bishop telepathically said.

 _I appreciate an X-Man who can be direct. It's certainly overdue._ Emma telepathically said.

Each wall was lined with rusty cages containing slabs of flesh and human meat. Broken skeleton remains dangled out of bars of the cages. A few dozen prisoners were still among the living. Starved outlines of human beings were all that was left of them, except for one orange haired inmate in his own private cage who seemed anything but emaciated.

"You're early," Fabian Cortez said.

"Cortez!" Bishop seethed.

Cortez put his hands behind his head and stretched his legs out until they touched the bars of his cage.

Emma strained her face until it shriveled like a prune.

Cortez winked at her. "…Disappointed, Frost? After all, who do you think placed the psychic blocks on these savages?"

"And I take it these are your guns too. How could you have possibly known we were coming? There's no way you could have been expecting us," Emma said.

"Not necessarily expecting. More, anticipating. Idealists are quite predictable," Cortez said.

"We're not here for you. We're here for what you know. I could care less if you rot in this cage until you end up like your pals in the other cages. All I care about is what you know about Exodus," Bishop demanded.

"Now why would you assume I know anything about that man?" Cortez said.

"Because you, more than anyone else, hate him. You fear him," Bishop said.

"And fear breeds a need for understanding," Emma said.

"As well as war," Cortez smirked.

"Exodus plans to kill virtually the entire population in six days unless we stop him. We need to know where to find him and how to stop him!" Bishop snarled.

"Then good luck to you," Cortez said.

Bishop reached between the bars and snatched Cortez by the throat.

"You misunderstand me. I'm not asking. Talk!" Bishop said.

Cortez wheezed and laughed hysterically.

"He knows we need him alive. Threatening him is only a waste of time," Emma said to Bishop.

Cortez gave Bishop a jackal's grin as he released his throat.

"Is this the best your Professor can produce these days?" Cortez laughed.

"What is it you want?" Emma said.

"Ah, where coercion dies, compromise is born. I want what I came here for in the first place," Cortez reclined back against his cage.

"Get to the point, pretty boy," Bishop said.

Cortez rested his chin in his hands.

"For the X-Men to arrange my unconditional release and freedom. As payment, I will gladly share with you my years of research on the weaknesses of one, Bennet du Paris, or Exodus as you know him, in addition to the location of his hidden sanctuary," Cortez said.

"One more time, dear. You said you came here for us to release you?" Emma said.

"Precisely. All part of the game," Cortez said.

"What game?" Bishop said.

"The Upstarts game, of course," Cortez said.

"Upstarts…" Emma said.

She turned to diamond.

"Yes, Shinobi, myself, and Fitz-…" Cortez said.

"Fitzroy!" Bishop snapped.

"Yes, your best friend. Now that we've weeded out the weak links, phase two has begun with the three true contenders. Twelve rounds, each with their own specific objectives and bonuses. At the end of each round, whoever has the most points has their powers magnified by the Gamesmaster, and whoever has the least has their powers reduced. After the final round, whoever has the most points is granted immortality by the Gamesmaster," Cortez said.

"And these innocent Chechuans, I assume, are just pawns to be slaughtered in your game?" Emma said passionately.

"These are warriors. Your Hellions were innocent, Ms. Frost, or did you forget?" Cortez said.

Emma furiously lunged her arm into Cortez's cage and palmed his skull like a basketball. Her diamond nails cut into his scalp like glass.

"Frost!" Bishop grabbed her shoulders, "…Emma! Don't make the same mistake I did and let him get to you."

Emma's entire body convulsed. Her quivering hand slowly released Cortez.

"Imagine just how many points I received for successfully corrupting an entire civilization. These savages had a utopia before I found them. They didn't even know what mutants were. They were animists. Mutants and humans living in perfect harmony. They actually believed mutant powers were gifts no different than high intellect or tallness. They celebrated them as blessings from their pantheon of gods. Pyromancers from the sun god, healing from the spirit of the Earth. They used their powers to fuel this self-sufficient, hermitic society for centuries. And all it took was a little spark and fanning to burn it all to the ground. Isn't it magnificent? You met the humans' leader here, Tomas. He no doubt already tasked you with rescuing his nephew, but did he also tell you the boy's father, Tomas' brother, is a mutant? And that Tomas' nephew is human? That's why he wants him. He wants you X-Men to steal a boy from his father just because his father is a mutant," Cortez said.

He cackled maniacally. It was a shrill, off-putting howl of a laugh.

"And you have to do it, X-Men. You have to if you wish to save the world from Exodus," Cortez said.


	9. Chapter 9

**Manhattan**

"This gets as ugly as you want," Scott barked.

The Inner Circle stood, arms-length, from Scott and Jean. Rogue hovered above in battle stance. Gambit vaulted over the sofa with a kinetically charged spade ready to fire. Betsy flashed her telepathic knife, its shimmering gleam highlighting her hair with a purple sheen.

Cyclops wasn't one to bluff, but he was now. The Red Team was outnumbered and unprepared for a pitched battle with the Inner Circle. Someone had to make a move.

Beads of perspiration dripped down Scott's forehead like an ice cube melting in the sun. Maddie's judging, morning star eyes blinded Scott. Their relentless spotlight smoldered not from heat but hurt.

Scott's mouth hung open after he spoke, waiting, searching for the strength to say more. To say the rest. His upper and lower lips were factions at war, parted at an impasse. Neither willing to move to the center. Neither able to close the gap until receiving some salient sign of peace to embolden them to speak truthfully.

For the leader of the X-Men, husband of Jean Grey, father of Cable, there was only one truth.

There was only one thing he wanted, needed, to say. And Scott needed it. He needed it as a storm filled sky needs a rainbow at its end.

All he wanted to say was "Forgive me."

Please …

He needed it so desperately. He wasn't even sure he was sorry, but he needed forgiveness. More than he could ever articulate or appreciate. But he felt it, somewhere deep in his aching, gangrenous blue and gold heart. He needed Maddie to absolve him of all his awful crimes against his own kind.

Not mutantkind. Not humanity.

The Summers kind.

His kind.

But his lips, quivering, pouting, defiant to the end, slowly shut. There would be no forgiveness because there would be no apology.

Madelyne wasn't Maddie anymore.

She was a criminal.

She was the Goblin Queen turned White Queen of the Inner Circle.

She wasn't his anymore. Maybe she never was. Maybe…his fists clenched as if clutching invisible dumbbells…maybe he never should have asked that of her. Or anyone.

Sebastian Shaw, big and bold, took center. He eagerly rubbed his hands together. They were like giant slabs of concrete, coarse and thick, grating against each other. Those scars and keratinized flesh were a language onto their own. After years of being an X-Man, fighting for his life every day, Scott had picked up a bit of the language himself.

The calluses told the story of this man, Shaw, of an empire built with his bare hands and washed clean in the blood of others. No matter how brightly his diamond cufflinks shined, they could not deflect that this man was nothing more than a brute in an expensive suit. Knowing Shaw, he wouldn't have it any other way.

Harry Leeland and Donald Pierce flanked Shaw to his left and right, respectively. Leeland's smug, orangey cheeks glowed like a lit lantern. He took a swig from his glass chalice. Life was simply a zoo filled with colorful creatures for his entertainment. He gazed down at Scott and his friends like they were monkeys posturing for his amusement.

Pierce was night to Leeland's day. Pierce's rapier eyes cut back and forth. One by one, he seemed to be appraising each of Scott's teammates, watching them, stalking them. A machine fueled with the burning coal heart of human hate.

Selene clung to the back. Her distant, half-open eyes didn't make contact with anyone. Scott knew the least about her. There was so much pain and history between the X-Men and Inner Circle, but Selene, perhaps by her own design, was very much an outsider to both groups.

That made her dangerous.

They were all soldiers on opposite sides of the battlefield, praying for an excuse to attack. An excuse to be themselves. Beneath Scott's dress suit and the Inner Circle's Victorian garbs were their true selves. The disgusting, naked truth they all concealed under a vain vail of civility.

The truth was, for Scott at least, the only good he had ever done as an X-Man was tear down worse things than himself. Yet there he stood, across from a secret society of mutants sworn to uphold the best interests of mutantkind, as determined by them. An all too familiar creed, and justification, for Scott Summers.

Scott's eyes lingered on Maddie. In the monochrome wash of red, the redhead still stuck out to him. She draped herself over Jason Wyngarde like a pearl white shawl.

New White Queen…

Scott's stomach writhed. It was all so horribly familiar. As long as he lived, he'd never forget the awful, sickening sight when he first met the Inner Circle. To see Jean like that…dangling off Mastermind like an ornament…he'd never be free of that image in his mind.

Even then…as crushing as that moment was, he could at least console himself knowing Jean was possessed by Phoenix and manipulated by Mastermind.

It wasn't her choice.

But here…now…

Maddie…

Maybe there was a chance Mastermind was controlling Maddie now too.

Maybe.

Reality was that Scott had been the one trying to control Maddie. He knew it. He lost a marriage trying to tell her who she was, who she was supposed to be, all the while unconsciously reminding her who she wasn't.

Jean might have been controlled by the Phoenix, but Maddie stopped being controlled by others a long time ago. Especially by Scott.

This was her choice. This was her. This twisted hybrid of Jean and Emma… Madelyne Pryor, the White Queen.

It made him feel…Scott just wanted to…

Scott peered to his left at Jean.

He couldn't imagine how hard this must all be on Jean. She hadn't said a word. Not only was Maddie a clone of Jean, but Maddie lived Jean's life for her for years.

Baby Nathan should've been Jean's.

Scott bit his tongue.

That was an awful thing to think. He instantly wished he could take it back. Doubts were boots, repeatedly kicking him in the head for even allowing himself the thought.

It was true.

But that didn't make it right. Nothing did.

Maddie was the mother of his child. Period. Why couldn't he respect that, if nothing else? Just because she wasn't the person Scott wanted her to be didn't mean she wasn't his wife or the mother of his son.

Scott would give anything to be able to just go back and do it right from the start.

Anything.

…Would it be so bad if the Blue team failed? If they didn't succeed in stopping Exodus? If the world truly was built on the X-Men's culture? If Scott back then with Maddie was the man he is today, maybe things would have worked out differently. If he didn't have to be torn between being an X-Man and a man. If he wasn't always devoting his life to putting out brushfires that spun out of earlier, larger fires. An endless game of cause and effect with no winners or losers, just new players until time immaterial.

It would be. It would be as bad and worse if the Blue team failed. They could never allow Exodus to win and kill so many lives. Exodus was wrong in action and principal, Scott reminded himself over and over until the words blended together into song and lost all meaning. And then he repeated them some more.

"Everybody calm down! What's wrong with you people!?" Rio Vaughn shouted.

His head wobbled in disbelief at each side and the war he unwittingly sparked.

"Outta the way, sugah! It's about ta get rougher in here than Gambit's English," Rogue said.

"Pot and kettle, Chere, pot and kettle," Gambit said.

"No one leaves this room until we settle this," Jean uncharacteristically snarled.

She thrust out her hands and telekinetically barricaded the sofa in front of the doorway. Jean was so loving and patient, especially toward the more tormented members of the team. It was easy for Scott to forget sometimes how troubled and traumatic a life Jean had. She hid it so well.

One trait they had in common.

Or perhaps Jean was better at confronting her issues and finding resolutions.

Rio frantically squirmed toward the blocked door.

"That includes you, Vaughn. For all we know he's the one that set us up," Psylocke said, her pitch cryptically harmonizing with the sizzle of her telepathic knife.

"I-I thought you guys would be friends. I swear, I had no idea you guys all knew each other!" Rio stuttered.

"It's something a bit more than just knowing one another, lad," Leeland said in his husky voice.

Sebastian Shaw chuckled. His frightful laugh bellowed from his diaphragm and echoed through the room like a sonic boom.

"Behave, X-Men," Shaw said.

"Or, by all means, make your move," Pierce said.

"Mister Summers," Mastermind said, arm and arm with Madelyne, "we're not enemies tonight."

Mastermind winked at Scott.

It made him cringe.

Mastermind turned to Jean.

"Ah, so good to see you again, Miss Grey-Summers, you look quite to die for, as always," Wyngarde said.

"Dis awkward, even by Gambit's standards," Gambit mumbled.

 _Hold it together, Jean,_ Scott telepathically said.

 _Don't worry about me,_ Jean said.

 _I agree,_ Madelyne telepathically said.

Scott fumbled back a step. Jean quickly faced Scott. Her stunned expression was like shattered glass. Broken and transparent.

Madelyne grinned at the two. She had taken no steps and spoken no words. Yet she, more than anyone before, violated Scott and his wife in a way they never feared possible.

 _Surprised, Scottie? You would be. I should know that by now,_ Madelyne telepathically said.

 _Get out of my head, Maddie…-Madelyne!_ Scott said.

 _She…she's not in our minds…_ Jean said.

 _I'm part of them,_ Madelyne said.

Her grin widened.

 _Oh, Scott…she's part of our psychic rapport!_ Jean said, her telepathic voice cracked.

A tear ran down Jean's cheek. It caught the fluorescent light and sparkled like a star twinkling in space.

Rogue glanced down at Jean's glistening face.

"Jean!" Rogue yelled and furiously turned back to the Inner Circle, "Whateva ya'll's done ta her get ready for ten times as much from me!"

"Try and you will fail, X-Man," Selene scoffed.

"…I'm fine, Rogue." Jean sniffled.

 _Yes, we're all fine, aren't we? You, me, and Scottie. The three of us linked together, forever, in our psychic rapport,_ Madelyne said.

 _You have no right to violate our psychic rapport! I don't know how you did it but…_ Scott said.

 _No right? No right?_ Madelyne quickly interrupted.

 _I…_ Scott staggered.

 _I was your wife! The Inner Circle has honed and augmented my powers in ways you could not begin to see, Cyclops. Remember, from now until the end of all our meaningless lives, everything you say to Jean, Scottie, every single I love you, every hope, fear, dream, question, joke, I'll be listening. I'll be there. No matter what you and her say, your wife will be there in the shadows, in the dark where you were for so very much of our time together,_ Madelyne said.

"See…" Rio crept slowly to the center of the room, the eye of the hurricane, "You heard her. Jean's fine. This is all a big misunderstanding. Please, everyone, just have a seat and calm down."

"I concur. As amusing as all this is, we have a show to enjoy," Leeland said.

"I am so very sorry, I want to apologize to everyone. I genuinely had no idea this would all blow up in my face like this. I wanted to introduce you guys to the Hellfire Club members who funded the cosmetic surgery initiative for mutants. I…" Rio rubbed the back of his head, "…I figured the Hellfire Club and the X-Men both do so much to help mutantkind that you'd be instant friends. Wow, was I off."

"Sugah, ah think ya'll need ta look up exactly what the word 'help' means." Rogue cautiously lowered to the floor.

"Because it sounds more like this cosmetic surgery is only 'helping' to institutionalize mutants and view themselves as inferior. We shouldn't need to whitewash ourselves to fit in with humans. If they can't accept us for who we are and how we look then what hope do we have of real acceptance and tolerance?" Betsy said passionately.

"Whitewash says de Brit," Gambit mumbled to himself.

"You shouldn't need to," Pierce lashed back, emphasizing harshly 'you.'

"But not every mutant looks like runway models: Scott Summers, Jean Grey, Rogue, Remy Lebeau, and Elizabeth Braddock," Selene added.

"You X-Men have always sought to help mutants philosophically. We help mutants practically. Peaceful coexistence rallies and speeches do not save lives. This treatment does. How many mutants are gunned down, lynched, or terrorized simply because they LOOK like mutants? Many have powers that do not extend beyond just having different pigmentation or excess hair, bones, or horns," Shaw said.

"…And your solution is to condition our people to be ashamed of the way they look? To scrimp and save their money so they can afford to look just like everyone else? One body, one face, one mind? Is that it?" Betsy argued.

"I know…" Rio interrupted, "…look, hell, I know it's not the most ethical thing. But, I mean, it worked for me. It changed my life. Saved my life… Isn't that worth something?"

"De world, homme," Gambit said somberly.

Rio gently clapped his hands together as if his right hand caught the left from falling.

"…I need to get back stage and ready for the show." Rio forced a laugh, "I guess politics isn't my thing. I should stick to acting. Pretending is the only thing I'm any good at."

"Charmed as always, X-men, do keep in touch," Mastermind said.

"I have a feeling they will," Madelyne said.

The Inner Circle turned to the blocked doorway. Pierce easily slid the sofa away from the doorway with his mechanical prosthetic arm.

"Hopefully the actual play is as much of a show as that was," Leeland said.

"I certainly hope more so. That was dreadful," Selene said.

Vaughn and the Inner Circle filed out of the X-Men's suite. No fists were thrown. No energy attacks fired. So why did Scott feel so very hurt?

 _…_ _Jean,_ Scott telepathically said.

"I said I'm fine, Scott. Thank you," Jean said and turned to view the stage.

"Yeah…me too," Scott said.

"Now wait a dern minute…" Rogue put her gloved hand on Scott's shoulder, "…ya'll're tougher than adamantium sometimes. Ah know how hard that must've been. Really, ah do. First time, God, first time ah saw poor Ms. Marvel face to face after what ah'd done ta her…Ah wanted some big hole ta come find me so ah could die in it. But it wasn't some big hole a despair that came an' found me. It was the X-Men."

Scott glanced at Rogue. Her soft smile cut through a lifetime of pain in both of them.

"Ya'll were there for me, and, dern it..." Rogue playfully punched Scott's shoulder, "…don't forget that we're here for ya'll too. Anytime ya need us."

"Anytime," Betsy said, then awkwardly cleared her throat. It was like she surprised herself by saying that.

Scott smiled back sheepishly.

"'Cept after eight. Gambit out de office," Gambit said.

"Swamp rat, ain't nobody crazy enough ta go askin' fer yer advice." Rogue sat beside Jean and stroked her hair.

"Gambit a regulah Donahue, Chere." Gambit joined Rogue and Jean, with Betsy following.

"I think you're a regular Gambit, Gambit," Scott said and joined his friends.

After forty minutes, the seats below swelled with a capacity crowd. A hush awe broke over the audience as the house lights dimmed. A lone spotlight commanded the attention of hundreds of viewers, guiding them like moths to the center of the stage.

The curtains unveiled the theatre stage, a window to a much smaller and far greater world. The grainy, dimly lit New Orleans set and dingily dressed actors seemed to captivate the audience. Scott waited for a baby to cry or cell phone to beep. Nothing.

Rio, Stanley Kowalski, appeared on stage, decked in a smudged wife beater and soaked in sweat and musk. He had transformed himself, apparently a second time, into someone entirely new. He seemed so confident on stage, empowered by the transformative thrill of being someone else. It wasn't too far off from how Scott felt when he put on his uniform and became Cyclops. Powerful and anonymous.

Rio approached Blanche and Stella. It was like the entire audience held their breaths to hear every syllable spoken by Rio. They adored him much the same as they adored any actor. Not for who he was, but who he became.

Scott wasn't so sure of that. Maybe they did accept him. As a performer. As a mutant. As a person.

Rio opened his mouth.

A seismic explosion erupted from under the stage. The impact blew Rio and the actresses playing Stella and Blanch clear across the amphitheater. Shrapnel from the stage and set hurtled out in the crowd like fire rain.

The once silent theatre shook with deafening screams and panicked cries from the crowd as hundreds of frightened and confused patrons scrambled for the exits.

As the dust and smoke cleared, six figures leapt from under the stage.

Scott jumped to his feet along with his teammates.

"Mon dieu!" Gambit yelled.

Marrow, Calisto, Healer, Masque, Sunder, and Caliban emerged.

"Morlocks!" Betsy said.

"We've come for the Uncle Tom! We've come for the traitor to his own race, Rio Vaughn!" Marrow growled.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

 **Chile**

Bobby's eyes fluttered open. The stifling heat stung his bruised skin.

"Ah!" Bobby quickly raised off his back, "Where am I?"

The only answer was the rustle of chains shackled to his ankles and wrists. He was drenched in his sweat. Wherever he was, it felt like the inside of an oven. A craggy, cavernous, ray dark oven.

Judging by the brutal heat and ashes clogging his lungs, this had to be some type of prison cave inside the volcano. All Bobby remembered was fighting for his life on the side of the volcano. He was doing pretty well for himself until they overran Warren and him…

Warren!

Bobby instinctively summoned a sheet of ice to encase his wounded flesh, but his powers failed him.

A cold shiver skated over his pimply skin. The kind of cold Bobby hated. The kind he couldn't control. His heart raced. Bobby whipped his head side to side in a panic.

"…Warren? Warren!" Bobby yelled.

"Ungh…" Warren groaned.

"Warren! Thank God!" Bobby exhaled.

"…For what?" Warren said smugly.

"New episodes of Archer. Whaddya think?" Bobby said.

"I think we're trapped in a volcano, there are power dampeners all around us, and we have no idea where the others are, let alone if they're still alive," Warren said and angrily pulled on his chains.

"Yeesh. And here I thought this cell was dark enough as it is," Bobby said.

Warren didn't respond. Nothing Bobby hated more than awkward pauses. His distaste for them made sense when Bobby would meet someone new. If he wasn't sure how they felt about him, then even a second's lapse in a conversation could mean a thousand different things.

It was different with Warren. At least it should be. By now Bobby had to know that Warren was family. One of his, many, many, many, older siblings. He just didn't want Warren to be mad at him. He should know better that just because Warren wasn't saying anything didn't mean he was mad at Bobby. Squeezing blood from diamonds was easier than getting Warren to talk sometimes.

So why did it still gnaw at Bobby? Why did the silence call out to him so loudly? Did he do something wrong? Say something dumb? The hard part of being the team clown was that everyone expected him to have the perfect punchline to diffuse tension. Every. Single. Time.

No pressure.

But if he didn't say the right thing one time, or if he didn't say it at the right time…It's like everyone thought he was an idiot.

More so.

Worse maybe, they thought he wasn't serious. Warren's probably sulking over there, plotting how to escape and here Bobby was, as always, making light of it. Making it seem like it was ok they were captured. Like Bobby was content with waiting, as always, for the others to come rescue him. Bail him out like an over privileged bank.

Bobby didn't ask to be taken prisoner. And it's not like he wasn't trying to find a way out. He was certainly doing more than Warren, Mr. Woe-is-me.

Bobby ran his fingers through his sweat soaked auburn hair. Even his sweat burned.

He just wanted to hear Warren laugh. It's how Bobby knew things were ok. And when things were ok, they could all be confident that things were going to be ok. No matter what danger they were in. When everyone started brooding, that's when Bobby got worried. When his teammates would shut themselves off, then it was everyone for themselves. Bobby knew it firsthand. How many times had he seen his own father shut himself off to his feelings? His own family? Nothing ever got fixed that way. Nothing.

If they were going to survive this, Bobby needed Warren, not the melancholy Archangel.

"…So…" Bobby said.

The quick turn of a key cut Bobby off.

Warren sat up.

"Someone's…" Bobby said.

"Shhh…" Warren interrupted.

The cell door rattled open. An arrow of light pierced through the cell from the crack in the door. A tall, looming man entered with long, black hair draped around his shoulders. He was a striking figure, a walking monolith of a man eclipsing the slivers of light behind him.

He approached Warren and Bobby, both tied to the floor across the cell. They couldn't move. Their powers were being suppressed. And tiny looked like he could snap their necks with the snap of his fingers.

Bobby smirked.

"Yeah, I'll have a large number two with…mmm…I'll go with a large diet coke and a, hey, are you guys serving breakfast still?" Bobby said.

"Christ…" Warren mumbled and unexpectedly chuckled.

It was good to hear Warren laugh. It was like water in the desert. If Bobby had to go out, he'd go out his way, on his terms.

Their captor grunted. It was a disdainful grunt, as if the guy just heard someone cuss in church.

The man spat a thick gob of saliva at Bobby.

"Hey! Does it say overpass on my forehead?" Bobby squirmed and flicked the spit off the crown of his head like it was a spider.

"Quiet, Bobby," Warren said.

The man squatted in front of Warren and Bobby. He came in without any guards. To get so close to his prisoners either meant he was incredibly stupid or confident. Like any great leader, probably both.

"We knew you'd come eventually," the man said.

In English.

Bobby cocked an eyebrow.

"You…" Warren started.

"Yes, we speak the outsider's language. He taught it to our people. Changed us," the man said.

He sighed. It was a deep, anguished breath as he lowered his head.

"And now more outsiders' have come to join him," he said.

"You are mistaken," Warren jumped in, "We know of the outsider you talk about. A man named Cortez. We are not here to join him. We are here to…arrest him. He's a criminal. We want to bring him back with us for justice."

"It doesn't matter anymore. If you are here to help or hurt him, there is no difference. You are here because of him. And now things here will never be the same. No matter what happens. Your presence alone is enough to damage everything," the man said.

"…I understand what you mean," Warren said.

"Believe me, the last thing we want to do is impose on your people. You drop a pebble in water, they're going to be ripples. We get it. Help us help you. Show us where you have Cortez locked up, and we take him off your hands. Win-win," Bobby said.

"We respect your solitude. All we want is to right Cortez's wrong and then leave you in peace. We can guarantee you no one else will ever bother your people. We promise," Warren added.

"You feel entitled to trust, do you not? Either you are very arrogant or very foolish, outsider," the man said.

"Look, c'mon, enough with this outsiders and natives crap. We're men. All of us. If you don't like us, don't like _us,_ not who we remind you of," Bobby said.

He slowly reached out his shackled hand as far as he could to try and shake his captor's hand.

"My name's Bobby. This is my friend Warren. What's your name?" Bobby said.

The man was taken aback. A smirk crawled across the side of his face. He faced Warren.

"Your friend has much to learn about the world," the man said.

"Yeah…" Warren said, "…and so do we."

"…I am Luis," the man said.

He turned to Bobby, inches from his face, and scowled.

"Has anything changed?" Luis said.

"Everything," Bobby said.

Luis stood up.

"The one you call Cortez, he was not the first outsider to contact our people, you know," Luis said.

"Sure wasn't the Listerine people," Bobby said under his breath.

"My family has led our people for centuries since they were forced…chose to settle these volcanoes from the mainland. Spanish missionaries came to convert our people to their gods. Soon after, Spanish soldiers came to convert our people to their kings. Our ancestors were given a choice by these outsiders. Stay in the fertile mainland and assimilate, or, those unwilling were given the 'choice' to resettle around the arid volcanoes. Many stayed. And now they're unrecognizable. Bred and bled out by the Spanish and their wars. The outsiders told our ancestors to trust them. They wished to live peacefully with them," Luis said.

Luis gazed at the ceiling and sighed.

"It is dark here. You cannot see. But there are machines in this room. Machines that suppress mutant powers," Luis said.

He shut his eyes.

"We are all mutants here. We cannot even trust each other. What hope is there for trust?" Luis said.

"This is a start," Bobby said, "Listening. Talking. Look, trus-…er…believe us, we can relate to what your ancestors went through. I'm so sorry it happened. But outside, that same war is going on, and it's our job to try and stop it. And we can't do it without you."

"You mentioned machines before," Warren said, "did the outsider Cortez give them to you?"

Luis shifted his eyes to the ajar cell door for a microsecond.

"We had another name for the outsider, Cortez. Advisor," Luis said.

"Uh, boy," Bobby mumbled.

"Our ancestors survived the harsh terrain of the volcanoes for centuries by celebrating and using the gifts given to us by the gods. The sun blesses some with the power to make fire while the sky blesses others with the power to make water. Our people thrived in a utopia, never wanting for food or medicine because we learned to function, together, by appreciating our god given talents. When the outsider arrived, near death, my brother and I decided to nurse him back to health. We shared our gifts with him, and, for a time, he lived peacefully as one of us. He taught us his language and advised us on the outside world.

One day, nomads and raiders stormed our village. We should have known the outsider had something to do with it, but by then, he was one of us. We trusted him. With my powers, and those like me, we drove back the raiders. But my brother…my poor human brother, Tomas… he changed that night.

He felt it was his tactical strategy that made the difference in battle. His god given talent of intellect. But no one saw that. No one could see that gift. Our people voted me leader for my strength, when for years, my brother and I led together. My brother was consumed with rage and envy. I didn't know at the time but I should have suspected it. It was the outsider, the outsider fanned the flames of jealousy in his mind. Advising him to fear me because I was, as he called it, a 'mutant.' My gifts weren't blessings from the gods, but a curse of birth. His paranoia infected the other humans who feared one day we mutants would no longer need them and turn on them.

My brother…my own brother…one night, he cornered my wife and I, a thirst for blood in his veins…I managed to survive that night, but my beautiful wife…Killed by my own brother. And everything changed forever.

We split from the humans. The outsider supplied them with weapons and technology we had never dreamt of before but now cannot exist without. For months now, we kill each other with no victors ever emerging. Just bodies. Dead bodies of friends and loved ones, shoveled to the side of our blood stained roads. They have advanced weapons, some we have stolen, and larger numbers, but we had far greater powers. But that balance was destroyed recently when they kidnapped our healer. Without her, our numbers dwindle while theirs multiply," Luis said.

"…Maybe things are the way they are for a reason. Maybe peace really is a fool's dream." Warren exhaled.

"C'mon, don't say that, Warren," Bobby said.

Even if it is true.

"We need all the warriors we can find. You want the outsider, Cortez? The humans have him, along with our healer, as their prisoner. Help us rescue our healer and we will help you free Cortez," Luis said.

Bobby glanced at Warren. His blue friend didn't make eye contact. Warren sat staring face front. Bobby could only make out half of Warren's face, his beady pupil fading in and out of the pale stream of light.

"…You have our word," Warren said.

Luis nodded and headed for the exit. He lingered at the doorway.

"All I have is blood on my hands. And so will you." Luis left the cell.

Bobby took a deep breath then deflated, resting his back against the jagged cave wall.

"…Listening and talking?" Warren said.

"…Not a word of this to the Professor, you hear me?" Bobby said.

"Sure. What's said in Chile, stays in Chile," Warren said.

"Good," Bobby said.

"So…you wanna sing Kumbaya now or wait for the smores?" Warren said.

"Shush, you!" Bobby said.

"…H-Hello?"

Bobby and Warren sat back up.

The soft, trembling voice had the innocence of a child. A young boy snuck into the cell, slipping through the shadows like a walking shade.

"Who's there?" Warren demanded.

"…Me…Hi…I'm Franco," the boy said.

"How old are you, Franco?" Bobby said.

"I'll be twelve next week!" Franco said.

"Why are you here, Franco?" Warren said.

"My dad's talking to the others, I heard them say they're going to attack uncle," Franco said.

"Your dad's Luis?" Bobby said.

Franco nodded.

"I heard you guys in here…I don't think you're bad guys. Are you?" Franco said.

"Nah, we're the good guys, kid," Bobby said.

"Just in the wrong place at the wrong time apparently," Warren said.

"I believe you're good guys. Even if nobody else does. I don't have gifts like my Dad, but…I do have gifts. I get feelings about people. I have a good one about you two. I don't think you're sent here to hurt us like everyone else thinks," Franco said.

"That's nice of you to say, kid. Really," Bobby said.

"Please, don't let them hurt my uncle," Franco said.

Tears began to well in his eyes.

"Uncle taught me how to hunt, how to read, how to spot birds, I love him. He's family. And I don't want to lose him like my mom. Please, promise me you won't let my Dad hurt him," Franco said.

Warren looked down, "I…"

Bobby reached over and patted Franco on the shoulder.

"Don't worry, like I told ya, kid. We're the good guys. We always do the right thing," Bobby said.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

 **Mansion**

Charles exhaled. His labored breath dissipated like the Blackbird's exhaust in the horizon.

"God speed," Charles said to the departed Blue Team.

To himself.

The hangar felt twice as large without the Blackbird. Charles, twice as small.

He turned around. The smooth hum of his hover chair reverberated through the cavernous, vacant hangar like a bee buzzing past a microphone.

Charles boarded the Subbasement elevator. Its sparkling, crystal blue doors shut behind him. Not a smudge, speck of dirt, or even a fingerprint in sight.

The elevator ascended to his study. The brief ride was so gentle that if he shut his eyes, he wouldn't even realize he was moving. Let alone rising.

The Mansion was so clean and efficient. So numbingly polished. So…sterile.

Charles exited the elevator into his study and hovered to his desk, dimly lit by one shaded lamp. Everywhere he looked, there was his name. On the door to his study. His plate on his desk. Even the front entrance had his name, emboldened on the gate.

Charles Xavier was a brand. A tool for marketing. For persuasion.

Charles slumped down in his chair. He caught a glimpse of a picture framed on his desk. A picture of his family. The X-Men.

He rested his head in his hand, his vision shrouded by his sweaty palm. And there, hidden, he tried to avoid the picture frame. The photo was like an infant calling out to him, wiggling imaginary fingers and toes for Charles to pick him up in his arms and embrace him.

Charles reached for the photo. The very one he had stared at with such pride for so many years. Generations of students all gathered in one picture. His legacy. That picture was as much Charles Xavier as the Mansion itself.

Charles adjusted the cuff of his carnation white shirt under his tan blazer. He hated when his shirt wasn't neatly trimmed to his wrists. His baggy sleeve hung out his blazer as he meticulously tucked it in. It suddenly felt like his clothes were two sizes too big.

He felt even smaller than he did in the hangar.

"How do you do it?" Charles asked, longingly, to the photo.

A better question perhaps, why?

Charles had been a soldier once too. He knew what it was like to be given orders. And, more pressingly, knew what it was like to be expected to carry out orders.

Following them wasn't enough for the military. Charles was expected to succeed. Get the job done no matter what. It was more than a motto. More than orders. It was a culture.

Whether that meant life or death, innocents or the guilty, he had to follow orders and see that they were accomplished.

But the thing was, even then, especially then, Charles didn't like being told what to do. What to think. How to think.

The cruelty and barbarism of the military was all around him. It was a straightjacket for the asylum of war, and he spent his life's work since then trying to convince everyone, himself most of all, that humanity is not mad.

People are, all things considered, fundamentally good. Charles believed that. He fought for that and would continue to do so until his last breath and maybe beyond.

Charles rubbed his temple with his free hand.

But how could he ask the same of his X-Men? They were students, first and foremost. They came to him to learn how to function in society with their, at times, debilitating mutant conditions.

He did not recruit them to be soldiers expected to carry out his orders.

Charles gazed deeply at the photo.

Scott. Jean. Ororo. Logan. Henry. Emma. Anna. Remy. Kurt. Peter. Kitty. Lucas. Warren. Robert. Jubilation. Elizabeth. Charles.

All seventeen, assembled on the front lawn like a nineteenth century baseball team at the start of spring training. Frozen forever, together.

His sixteen X-Men were so very brave. The Blue team had rushed off to Chile without batting an eye. As Charles dawdled in his study, the Gold team was in the Danger Room preparing, waiting anxiously for the Blue team's return so they could start their own mission.

They were so faithful and trusting to his dream. But, were the situation reversed, would Charles be an X-Man?

Would he submit to the orders and dreams of another? He liked to think he would. His X-Men were kindred spirits. They shared common values and dreams. Had circumstances been different and say Charles and Logan swapped lives, had Logan been born an Xavier and Charles been hardened by war, would Charles listen to someone else?

Charles delicately returned the photo to its place on his desk as if it might shatter if he moved too fast.

So many others had tried to court Charles to their way of thinking to no avail. Magnus, En Sabah Nur, Essex, Cassandra, and now Exodus. They each had their own philosophies and dreams as radical as many viewed Charles'.

And to each, Charles turned a blind eye and deaf ear. They were all wrong of course. For Charles, his vision, his version of peaceful coexistence was the only way.

The truth was, deep down, Charles Xavier simply didn't believe in being a follower. He was a born leader. A scholarly mind driven by a rebellious heart. He didn't look like Gambit or Wolverine but he was far more defiant than both combined.

In politics, in love, Charles had to be in control. Moira. Gabby. Amelia… It had to be his way. On his terms. As unruly as Gambit and Wolverine were, they were pliant. They had the capacity to listen. To learn. To grow. Whether either was aware or not.

But Charles….he stopped changing a long time ago. Long before Lucifer did what he did to his legs.

His loyal X-Men were everything Charles wasn't. And now, now he had the awful task of asking them to defeat a man who embodied everything Charles preached and everything Charles personally opposed.

Exodus, perhaps more so than even Scott and Jean, believed in Xavier. Not Charles. He believed in the Xavier brand. Charles could feel it in the glacial confidence in Exodus' voice. He wasn't persuading or threatening the X-Men of his plans. He declared them, as if to say the sky will be blue in seven days.

Exodus' level of faith was truly frightening. That blind faith that the world would be a better place if it was populated exclusively by X-Men and X-Men culture made Charles' insides roil. Exodus was willing to put the X-Men in a position to finally succeed…by desecrating their most sacred principal. The inarguable value of human life.

Charles backed away from his desk. He glided toward the windows in his study and drew the half shut blinds all the way closed.

Charles had killed before. Most of his students had as well. All for a greater good, they told themselves. Because they had to, they would rationalize.

Much like Exodus himself said.

And like Exodus, there was now only one option left. One sickening option to stop Exodus that went against everything Charles believed in.

"…I wish there was another way…" Charles lamented.

Charles closed his eyes. He placed two fingers on each temple.

His astral form ebbed from his physical husk. He telepathically descended into the recesses of his own mind until reaching a small, knee high door.

"Forgive me now for what I do, but my students must have this information. I accept responsibility for the cost," Charles sighed.

An astral key manifested in Charles' hand. He reached forward with it, placing it in the tiny, unassuming door's lock.

Charles gently made the sign of the cross over his forehead, heart, and shoulders.

He twisted the lock.

"Charles…."

The small door dematerialized. Charles didn't flinch.

"Oh, Charles…haven't you brought enough pain into the world?"

"You are at your discretion to mock me. I have earned that. But for the good of the entire human race, I am in need of information only you possess, Onslaught," Charles said.

Onslaught appeared before Charles. His ghoulish, transparent image stared back at Charles.

"I only know what you know, Charles," Onslaught grinned.

"Indeed, as well as what Magnus knows, up to your point of divergence. I am in desperate need of insight into Magnus' former charge, Exodus, before it is too late," Charles said.

"And you would prefer to risk trying to control me than ask Magneto himself?" Onslaught's grin widened.

"Make no mistake. I have freed you in my mind, but you are still a prisoner here," Charles said.

"If that is what you choose to believe, Charles," Onslaught said.

"My beliefs are irreverent. The fact of the matter is your physical form was destroyed long ago. You have no recourse for escape," Charles said. His voice, harsh and stern. Begging, in Charles' proud way, for Onslaught to submit.

Onslaught tilted his head, examining Charles closer.

"I see now…This all frightens you, does it not?" Onslaught said.

"Exodus plots to exterminate all of humanity if we do not stop him. Even the notion of such an act is frightening," Charles said.

"No. Not that. Be honest with yourself, dear Charles. After all, no one else is here but you," Onslaught said.

"I fail to see what you are getting at," Charles said.

"Not knowing terrifies you. It's not his intentions. Not knowing who he is, why he is, and what he is capable of horrifies you," Onslaught said.

"…Magnus recruited Exodus. Aside from Fabian Cortez, Magnus would know the most about Exodus' powers, weaknesses, and motives. That information will mean the difference between life and death in the coming struggle. I have given you the platform to taunt and torment me for the rest of my days. But we are both full aware you will help me, for the simple fact that your only pleasure imprisoned here will be to torture me. Something you will be unable to do should we all be killed fighting Exodus. So in your own best interest, tell me what I need to know and be quick about it. Thank you," Charles said.

"Ah, that is the Charles Xavier I have known and loved. Arrogant and defiant against all odds and logic," Onslaught said.

"You bore me with your trite games, creature. I expected more, honestly," Charles said.

"I play no games. Remember, Charles, I'm only half you," Onslaught said.

Onslaught waved his hand. An apparition of Amelia Vought appeared.

"You fear Magneto, my other half. Understandably so. But why do you run, a second time, from Amelia? She worked intimately with Exodus for years. Wouldn't one logically contact her instead of voluntarily punishing oneself?" Onslaught said.

Charles tightened his brow.

"…Amelia is the field leader of the Acolytes. It is my concern that if Exodus is indeed acting alone, I would prefer the Acolytes and Magnus be kept in the dark for fear of them joining or mimicking him. Exodus is a threat that will require the efforts of all the X-Men, and perhaps more. We cannot risk triggering a war with the Acolytes and Magnus as well," Charles said.

"Your concern, Charles, is that you cannot control her. And if you cannot control someone, you do not trust them. If they are not your little flock of indoctrinated X-Men sheep then you want nothing to do with them. My goodness, Charles, you've already been living inside Exodus' utopia for quite some time," Onslaught said.

"That is an absurd distortion of reality," Charles quickly, maybe too quickly, retorted.

"Admit it, Charles…" Onslaught ghosted an inch closer to Charles, "…Admit it and the information is yours."

"I have no reservations admitting my shortcomings. Believe me. I am guilty of many. But the fallacy in your argument is multitude. For years I have had a working relationship with President Kelly, a man and legislation that I bear no influence or control over," Charles said.

"And how many times have you subverted that same government when you disagreed with their policies? How many laws have you willfully asked your X-Men to break in order to stop the Mutant Registration Act, for example?" Onslaught said.

He drifted another inch closer. Charles stepped back.

"That is an inane comparison! The X-Men acted only in the interest of the greater good for both mutant and humankind!" Charles shouted.

"And your greater good, Charles, is that the only greater good?" Onslaught said.

"What do you wish me to say creature? Tell me. That I have been unethical? Immoral? Amoral? Hypocritical? What do you want to hear? That I am no different than Magnus, Sinister, Apocalypse, and now Exodus?"

Charles stepped forward until his astral form was indistinguishable from Onslaught's.

"I freely admit then, here and now, I have been all those things! I carry no delusions of who I am and what I have done on this Earth. No one need tell me the lies I have told, half-truths I have spun, laws I have broken, and crimes I have committed. Those sins I take with me to my grave and into the next world. And I apologize! I apologize for all of it!

But hear me creature, I have been all those things, but I am NOT those things! That is what separates me from those we are destined to oppose. I have made many mistakes, but I do not hide behind my intentions to justify my outcomes like Magnus or Apocalypse. Everything I have done, right or wrong, good, bad, or indifferent, was always and exclusively to preserve and promote life. Have I failed along the way? Yes, time and time again. And I do not rationalize that. I do not excuse that.

I have tried to learn from each failure and find better ways to achieve our goals. Our enemies frighten me, yes, because they are unwilling to change. I am an extreme control freak, as Jubilation would put it, I admit to that. And to be honest, there are many days, too many… I linger in bed, wondering if things would be better if I didn't face the world today. If I wasn't here. If I've caused more hurt than healing in life. But I never linger too long. Do you know why, creature? Because at the very least, the one redeeming factor that gets me out of bed and gives me the strength to face each day is that I am aware of who I am. I know who I am and what I've done and that I still have more to grow.

I am not bound to my chair, this mansion, or my past failures. I learn from my students every day, more so than I ever taught them. I may never be the person I wish to be. I may always be an old, unethical hypocrite, but I also know I am an old, unethical hypocrite who isn't afraid to keep growing.

'Professor' Xavier is a misnomer, for I will always be a student. I accept that I do not have all the answers. If I didn't believe that, then yes, Onslaught, I would agree with you. I would be no different from our enemies. But I am different. And it will always be that way. It is your prerogative to torment me as you see fit, but I would recommend a different approach. I will never admit to a lie," Charles said.

"Oh, Charles, Charles, Charles…" Onslaught grinned, "…We shall have so very much fun together."

Onslaught's astral form passed through Charles.

"Exodus was born a man, Bennet Du Paris, in twelfth century France. He was a powerful mutant recruited by Apocalypse, much the same way as your charge, Warren Worthington was once upon a time. Apocalypse transformed Bennet into the formidable Exodus and further potentiated his already vast abilities. But when Exodus rebelled against his master, Apocalypse stripped Exodus of much of his power and sealed him away, eventually freed by Magneto," Onslaught said.

"Apocalypse? That would explain the startling array of powers Exodus demonstrated on Genosha," Charles said.

"Judging by Exodus' most recent display of power, he has somehow regained the full scope of his powers. He is capable of advanced telepathy that dwarfs your own, telekinesis far surpassing any of the Greys, teleportation and healing abilities so beyond Nightcrawler and Wolverine that they render the two X-Men virtual infants, and immortality," Onslaught said.

Charles cleared his throat.

"…An impressive gamut of powers, certainly. But now we at the very least have an idea what to prepare for and how. I must relay all this to the Gold Team, it might prove invaluable in defeating him," Charles said.

"Of course, that is why I have already telepathically uploaded the data on Exodus to Cerebro and the Danger Room," Onslaught said.

"That wouldn't be possible," Charles stammered.

Onslaught laughed.

"As I said, Charles. You and I are going to have a lot of fun together."


	12. Chapter 12 Part 1 and 2 Complete

Chapter 12

 **Manhattan**

Mushroom clouds of debris rushed through the theatre from the explosion on stage. In the dusty shadows, frightened silhouettes of the audience scurried frantically in all directions to escape.

The upper deck shook from the stampede below. Scott's knees buckled from the tremors. He grabbed the balcony railing overlooking the stage.

Marrow, Calisto, Sunder, Caliban, Masque, and Healer ripped through center stage like blood thirsty dogs.

Calisto's energy blasts caved-in the rear exits, boxing in the hysterical crowd. Marrows razor sharp bone daggers hurtled in every direction and chopped down anyone unfortunate enough to try and run.

"Rogue, you and Jean clear the exits! Make sure everyone gets out! Psylocke, protect Vaughn! He's the one they're after, don't let him out your sight! Gambit and I will try to slow down the Morlocks head-on!" Cyclops said.

"Let's do it," Betsy said.

Scott shut his eyes and swapped his red sunglasses for his visor.

"Morlocks. Had to be Morlocks," Gambit mumbled.

"…Oh, Sara…" Jean said, her lower lip trembling like the theatre itself.

"Ah, know…" Rogue shook her head and took a deep breath, "…but ah guess, fer better or worse, we're all free ta make our own choices."

Psylocke tossed off her dress heels. She pounced onto the balcony railing and balanced herself on the balls of her bare feet.

"And clearly Marrow's made hers." Psylocke dove from the balcony into the sea of the crowd below.

Jean ran to the railing.

"She's still our friend, Betsy! Don't hurt her!" Jean yelled.

Betsy did not respond. Psylocke was out of earshot. She weaved through the crowd and drew her psiblade as she approached the stage.

"X-Men!" Caliban shouted.

"Even better," Callisto said.

She fired a knife at Psylocke, who deftly somersaulted out the way.

"Ain't no friends where fists concerned, Chere," Gambit said to Jean.

He kinetically charged a king of hearts.

Jean summoned her magenta telekinetic aura and floated over the balcony. She turned to Gambit.

"You don't really believe that, do you, Remy?" Jean said.

"Ga-…" Gambit started.

Jean didn't wait for a response. She telekinetically lifted Cyclops and flew toward the stage.

Gambit arched his eyebrow.

"C'mon, swamp rat…" Rogue grabbed Gambit and took flight over the balcony, "…ya'll can think of yer witty retort on tha ride down."

Gambit gazed at Rogue's evening gown hugging her buxom chest.

"Gambit t'inkin' o' one right now." Gambit wet his lips.

"Heh, this ain't the ride down, sugah." Rogue said.

She dropped Gambit midflight.

"Chere!" Gambit yelled.

"This is!" Rogue yelled back from the ceiling.

Gambit fell ten feet. Felt about ten thousand. He acrobatically dismounted into a squat on landing while Jean gently lowered Cyclops beside him.

Jean and Rogue soared toward the rear exits to clear the rubble as Gambit and Cyclops scrambled closer to the stage to help Psylocke.

"Gambit don't understand dese women." He dusted his tuxedo off.

"Tell me about it," Cyclops said.

Jean quickly raised a telekinetic shield to insulate the crowd from the battle on stage. Rogue dug through the wreckage blocking the exits with her superhuman strength to clear a path.

"Ah ain't seen this many people in a hurry to leave a theatre since Dazzlah: The Movie." Rogue shoveled a boulder to the side.

"It had its moments." Jean telekinetically moved fallen ceiling beams.

"Ah know! Dern thing was ahead of its ti-Ungh!" Rogue said.

Caliban rammed his massive shoulder into Rogue's back. His gargantuan frame gifted by Apocalypse gored her like a red and white rhino.

"Rogue!" Jean refocused her powers on Caliban and telekinetically slammed him through an entire row of seats.

"I don't want to hurt you Calliban. We never did. Why can't you believe that?" Jean said.

With Jean focused on Caliban, Callisto slipped behind her.

Jean turned. Callisto jammed her knife into the side of Jean's abdomen.

"AAAARGHHH!" Jean writhed.

She retaliated with the telekinetic equivalent of a sledgehammer to the face that drilled Callisto.

A hot sweat broke over Jean's face. Her quivering body lowered to a knee. She'd used her vast mental abilities to perform surgery before, but never on herself. Never in the middle of a battle.

First time.

Everything.

"Ungh..." Jean moaned.

Her magneta aura wrapped around the knife handle like psychic fingers and dislodged the blade.

Blood gushed down her leg. Callisto struck a vein of splotchy red oil.

Jean applied telekinetic pressure to compress the wound. For a few seconds. Hard to focus. The stabbing pain shot throughout her body. Concentrating only made the throbbing worse. Felt like someone hammering a nail through her skull.

Jean crumpled onto the floor unconscious.

Sunder and Masque inched closer to Psylocke on the far end of the stage. Marrow pinching Psylocke in from the other side.

Psylocke stood, psiblade ready, guarding Rio Vaughn behind her.

"Such a pretty, pretty face Nebo has now…look so much better on Masque!" Masque hissed at Vaughn.

"Try it," Psylocke said in a chilling monotone.

She waved Masque on with her psiblade. The Morlocks were so unorthodox as fighters. It scared Betsy. All her martial arts training only meant so much against a gang of thugs that would gouge her eyes. But whatever it was the Morlocks had in their arsenal, Betsy wanted them to bring it. Bring it all. The show just started and Betsy wasn't going anywhere.

Rio slumped behind Psylocke. His right leg was limp and soaked in blood. Had to have been hurt in the explosion.

"S-S-Sunder…Please! It's me! Nebo! _Nebo!_ " Rio said.

"Sunder knows exactly who you are. Uncle Tom piece of garbage," Sunder said.

Rio didn't blink. His glossy eyes were wider than the gaping hole in the stage.

"…But…" Rio stammered.

"Quiet!" Psylocke shushed him.

Poor guy didn't have any offensive mutant powers. Psylocke was on her own. Great. Not that Betsy trusted him or anyone else to help her anyway.

Sunder and Masque advanced on them.

Cyclops carved a line at Sunder and Masque's feet with an optic blast that kept them at bay.

"That's far enough, gentlemen," Cyclops said.

"Lissen to de man, mes amis." Gambit held three kinetic cards between his fingers.

Marrow locked eyes with Cyclops. Her fiery stare redder than his own.

"Speaking of Uncle Tom's, the golden boys are here," Marrow said.

She hurled a flurry of bone daggers at her two former teammates. Cyclops dodged to the left, Gambit, the right.

"Just had to be Morlocks…" Gambit muttered.

"Stop this madness, Marrow, before more people get hurt!" Cyclops said.

"I didn't take orders from you when I was an X-Man, Summers, and I damn sure don't now!" Marrow seethed.

"You _are_ an X-Man, Marrow, and you'll always be a part of this f-…." Cyclops said.

"Family!? That what you were about to say? Huh! Shut the hell up," Marrow barked, "The Morlocks are my family! Don't you ever forget that!"

"…I'll let that slide. I know things haven't been easy for you. Believe me, none of us have had it easy… But you know in your heart all this death and destruction isn't the answer! You're better than this!" Cyclops said.

"You think you have any idea what the last few years have been like for me? For any of us?" Marrow unsheathed a bone dagger in each hand.

"You say I'm family? But tell me something, are you guys my family? Where were you when I was being tortured by Weapon X? Where were you then? Where was my X-Men family? Or better yet, how about poor Maggot? You even know all the suffering he went through at Neverland? You even care?" Marrow demanded.

"…Dis really more a conversation for Stormie, no?" Gambit said.

Marrow launched a bone dagger at Gambit that sliced the edge of his tuxedo jacket as he dodged.

"You…you have no right to even speak, Judas," Marrow growled.

"…I…we didn't know about you or Maggot. I'm sorry. I know that doesn't make it right…but neither does what you're doing now. You know these childish displays won't accomplish anything but hurting innocent people. You're a grown woman, Marrow. Start acting like it," Cyclops said.

"Don't talk down to me like I'm one of your braindead students who can't think for themselves. The whole world's not your precious little school. And don't go wasting your fake tears and pity on me and Maggot.

You know I ran into him a few months ago. Let's just say he and his new friends the Marauders have something sinister planned for the X-Men. I bet, Summers, I bet you barely even know who Maggot was. I bet in all the time he was an X-Man you didn't say more than two words to him.

You even take the time to _try_ and know the guy?" Marrow said.

"I…" Cyclops stuttered.

"See, that's the difference between X-Men and Morlocks. I would die for the Morlocks!" Marrow pounded her chest, "You know why? Because I love them. Them! The people! That's family! The X-Men… oh, I tried your way. The X-Men _expect_ you to die for their ideals. But guess what, soldier boy? The world ain't made up of ideals. It's made up of people.

I love the Morlocks and keep coming back because I love the people. It's that simple. The people are my home. The Morlocks' ideals and values change. I get that. Everything does. It's the people I fight for and care about. You, X-Men? Nah, the people don't matter half as much as the damn sacred blue and yellow uniform. The cheap X logo means more than the person wearing it."

"Hear that! Uncle Tom scum sucking trash!" Sunder glared at Rio, "THAT'S what being a real Morlock means! Not running out on your friends! Not forgetting who you are for fame and fortune! Not abandoning the people that love you!"

Sunder hocked a thick glob of spit at Rio.

"Sold out our own people, our family, for what?" Masque raged, "For human money? Human women? Disgusting sell out traitor must die!"

Marrow stepped forward.

"We're here to send a message. In public. On TV. For the world to see. This…" Marrow pointed her bone dagger at Rio, cowering behind Psylocke, "…This will not be tolerated. Self-hating mutants that sell-out our race will be tried and executed."

"I'm still a mutant, God Damnit! I just look different!" Rio stood and shouted.

"You are not one of us!" Marrow screamed.

She fired a bone dagger.

Psylocke ducked.

Rio did not.

The jagged dagger shredded the side of his neck. A fountain of blood sprang from the laceration and sprayed the white of Psylocke's gown. Rio's body hit the floor.

"You killed him…" Psylocke stammered.

Her eyes swelled with red faster than her silk dress.

"You killed him!" She angrily shouted and leapt in the air.

Psylocke bounced off Sunder's rocklike shoulders before he could swat her and launched herself at Marrow.

"C'mon, princess!" Marrow baited Psylocke on.

Betsy speared Marrow to the hard wood stage floor. The two desperately wrestled for control, rolling side to side like savages.

Psylocke wildly swung her psiblade like a torch in a darkened cave. Marrow parried, slicing Betsy's forearm with her bone dagger.

"Agh!" Betsy grunted.

She reeled back from the surge of pain. Marrow jammed the broad side of her bone dagger against Betsy's throat and forced Betsy onto her back. Marrow mounted and unsheathed a second bone dagger.

"Oh, you've had this comin' a long time!" Marrow said.

She clinched down tighter across Betsy's throat. Psylocke gasped for air. Starving for crumbs of oxygen. Marrow's grin widened.

Pyslocke bashed her knee in Marrow's gut. As all the air rushed out Marrow's chest, Psylocke blasted Marrow's temple with a stiff elbow.

Marrow staggered back. Her knees wobbled like wet noodles. Betsy had her. She knew it.

"Marrow!" Sunder yelled.

Damn it.

Sunder and Masque charged Betsy from behind.

"Not so fast, mister!" Cyclops fired an optic blast.

It landed squarely on Sunder's chest but barely moved him an inch. Cyclops continued firing, raising the intensity. Masque slipped behind the blast as Sunder bellowed with a guttural, disdainful laugh at Cyclops' benign attack.

"Ha! This?" Sunder waved his hand through Cyclops' beam like it was a flashlight, "This is supposed to hurt Sunder? Who do you think you ar-…" Sunder said.

A kinetic card sizzled through the air and synergized with the optic blast to trigger a massive explosion. The rippling shockwave blew Sunder across the theatre.

"De name is Gambit. Remember it," Gambit said.

Masque snatched Gambit from behind in a chokehold. His clammy fingers wrapped around Gambit's mouth like ten larvae.

"Pretty boy face look good on Masque!" Masque said.

"Aaarh!" Gambit squirmed.

The more he wiggled, the tighter Masque's hold became.

Scott turned and fired a narrow beam at Masque. It missed Gambit's cheek by less than an inch and decimated Masque.

Gambit dropped to his knees. Panting. Struggling to catch his breath.

"T'anks, mon ami. Gambit's face a national treasure," Gambit said.

"Something like that." Scott rolled his eyes.

 _Jean, how're things with you and Rogue?_ Scott telepathically asked.

 _I'm sorry, the redhead you're trying to reach is not available right now. Leave a message Scottie, and she'll get back to you when she's conscious,_ Madelyne telepathically replied.

"Jean!" Scott yelled.

Scott feverishly spun back and forth for any sign of her or Rogue among the chaotic crowd. Nothing. Just a sea of frightened faces. Women. Children. Grown men clawing, tearing at one another to squeeze through the path Rogue made through the rubble.

As the cannibalistic crowd trampled one another to exit through the clearing, Scott treaded through the dense mob. He was a yellow and blue tank cutting a path through the human trees around him, shoving people out his way in search of his wife.

"Jean! Jean!" Scott shouted, his shrill voice cracked.

"Over here!" Callisto yelled from Scott's flank. Her sour, nauseating voice was like a shot of whiskey to the ear.

Scott whipped his head to the side.

Healer stood beside Callisto. She seemed fresher than when they first broke into the theatre. Calisto's Cheshire smile greeted Scott followed by Jean's unconscious body.

"Jean!" Scott yelled.

Caliban scooped Jean off the floor and pressed her over his head. He shot her limp body at Scott's chest like a shotput.

"Aaaargh!" Scott groaned.

He and Jean toppled to the floor from the collision.

"Caliban always say, the ones you love hurt you most!" Caliban laughed.

"Unrequited love's mah department, sugah!" Rogue said.

Her body trembled as she rose back to her feet. But she didn't get up alone. Rogue hauled a fallen steel strut off the floor and swung at Caliban.

He flexed to brace for the blow. The beam slammed against Caliban's concrete-like skin and bent around his shoulder. It was a bicycle crashing into a truck. A big, bald, Apocalypse engineered truck.

The thunderous vibration of the impact turned Rogue's forearms to jelly. She instantly dropped the strut to the floor.

Caliban beamed.

"Caliban-…" he started.

Rogue rocketed at Caliban and leveled him with a jarring side kick.

"Caliban needs ta shut up!" Rogue yelled.

Healer scurried toward Caliban. With a touch, Caliban staggered back to his feet.

Cyclops fired at Healer, but Caliban shielded him with his mountainous body.

"You can knock Caliban down a thousand times but he will always rise!" Caliban pounded the floor with his fists.

The miniature earthquake shook Rogue and Cyclops to the ground.

Healer continued moving. He snuck behind Psylocke and Marrow as they traded punches.

"Argh…Gambit…take out Healer!" Cyclops yelled.

"Be a pleasure," Gambit said.

Healer quickly touched Sunder, knocked out in the corner.

Gambit fired a kinetic card at Healer's head. Sunder exploded back to his feet and smothered the kinetic card blast.

"Wanna try that again, Judas?" Sunder snarled.

"If you insist." Gambit pulled another card.

Sunder charged and snatched Gambit's wrists before he could throw. He wrenched Gambit's wrists as if he was unscrewing Gambit's hands from his forearms.

Callisto sauntered over. Her eyes never wavered off Gambit. They were pained slits open in darkness staring deep into Remy. Gambit knew those eyes, and more importantly, what was in them. Seen it more times than any man should.

Disappointment.

Heartbreaking. Agonizing. Disappointment.

It was written in her eyes. Extra bold font. Remy would know the look even if he was Daredevil.

Callisto petted Remy's cheek as Sunder torqued his wrists. She leaned in closer to whisper in the X-man's ear.

"You know, I get you, Remy Lebeau. I get you," Calisto said.

She stepped back. Raised her voice.

"See, you're not an X-Man. That's why you're a traitor. Youmassacred our people…" Calisto said.

"I didn't kill nobody!" Gambit yelled.

" _You massacred our people_ for your own survival…" Calisto grabbed Remy by the hair, "…Oh, I know the real story. The job you passed on in favor of the Morlock Massacre. We Morlocks know _everything_ about those that have persecuted us. _Everything._ And that's why I know you're traitor. 'Cause you're like us deep down. You're not an idealist. You're a survivalist. If it comes down to you or someone else, then to hell with them, right? That's all we're doin' here. You're just us on the other side of the battlefield."

Calisto pressed her forehead against Gambit's and talked through her gritted teeth.

"It took me a long time to accept that. See, it's the dreamers that're the problem. The Sinisters, the X-Men, the politicians, they are the problem! We're like you. We're here, doing all this, because we're like you, Lebeau. If it's down to us or them, then the Morlocks will survive!"

Calisto grabbed Gambit's chin and jammed her lips against his. Her stale tongue thrashed around his teeth and gums. She chewed his lip until spurts of blood curdled around her mouth.

Calisto gave a savage smile.

"I didn't want you to die without knowing I pardon you, Lebeau." She spat his blood in his face. "I pardon you."

"…Merci, petite," Gambit muttered.

Sunder cranked Gambit's arms back toward his spine as if they were butterfly wings.

"Aaaargh!" Gambit moaned in agony.

Betsy turned her head from the sound of Gambit's aching yell. Marrow seized the window of distraction and nailed Betsy with a barrage of clubbing strikes to the face until Betsy's swollen cheek glowed red.

"Aw, all this blush looks good on you, princess!" Marrow said.

She wound her fist back as far as it would go for a brutal haymaker. She fired her fist at Betsy, but before it could connect, Betsy jammed her psiblade under Marrow's chin through her skull.

Marrow instantly crumpled to the ground, her body convulsing in spasms.

"…Better than it ever looked on you, kiddo." Betsy huffed, struggling to catch her breath.

Healer ghosted over to Marrow and revived her before Betsy could react. Marrow wiped the drool from her lip and unsheathed two new bone daggers.

"C'mon, really?" Betsy said to herself.

Betsy's eyes fluttered from Callisto to Marrow and back. Beads of sweat streaked down the side of her face.

"We can do this all day." Calisto took a step forward.

Betsy wiped her brow.

"But you can't." Marrow took a step forward.

"You might be right…" Betsy bent her knees, ready to strike, "...how about we find out."

Betsy lunged at Marrow.

The second she made a move, the eastern wall of the theatre exploded from the outside.

"What now?" Betsy coughed from the spray of dust.

A dozen armed soldiers swarmed the theatre.

"There!" one soldier pointed at the stage. What was left of it.

He fired a dart from his rifle that pierced Callisto's shoulder. She dropped to a knee, trembling, gasping for breath.

"Callisto!" Caliban yelled.

A hail of darts pierced Caliban, Masque, and Sunder. Gambit tumbled out of Sunder's limp grip onto the floor. Healer feigned being hit and laid out among the fallen Morlocks.

Marrow dodged a dart that sailed past her head and hit the back of the stage. It landed and rolled next to Betsy's feet.

Marrow returned fire. She threw her bone dagger like a javelin at the soldier. It tore through his Kevlar uniform and shredded his bicep. His rifle clanged to the floor.

Marrow sprinted beside Callisto and checked for a wound or blood. Nothing.

"Thank God," Marrow said.

"Th-they're gone…" Calisto said.

"I'm right here," Marrow said.

Callisto collapsed in Marrow's arms. A shroud of twelve shadows fell upon Marrow.

"Yeah!?" Marrow barked at the soldiers.

She egged them on defiantly, "C'mon!"

The battalion of soldiers fired. Twelve darts cut into Marrow's arms, back, and chest.

With their attention on Marrow, Healer crept away from the pile of unconscious Morlocks toward Rio's bloody body.

He was facedown. Blood seeped from his neck. By now it had clotted, blackened into a crimson soup that clung to Healer's robes. They sucked up the stream of red like a washcloth.

Healer gently tilted Rio's chin up.

Rio's eyes rolled back and struggled to focus on Healer. On anything. Rio's tepid, broken inhales gurgled from the blood trapped in his lungs. Each breath sounded like the churns of an overfilled garbage disposal.

"Shhhh…" Healer said.

He placed his hand on Rio's shoulder and healed him.

"…For ruining your show." Healer smiled.

The soldiers swept over the unconscious Morlocks and handcuffed each one.

Rogue massaged the side of her head and staggered to her feet.

"What in tarnation did ya'll hit 'em with?" Rogue said.

Not a single soldier answered. They rounded up their livestock of Morlocks and headed for the exits.

"I didn't see any badges…" Betsy stood in front of the soldiers, "…Hey! Identify yourselves or as far as I'm concerned you're just as dangerous as they are."

"I suppose that concludes this little exercise," Sebastian Shaw said.

The Inner Circle nonchalantly walked onto the demolished stage from backstage.

"Shaw," Betsy drew her psiblade.

Shaw nodded at the soldiers, and they resumed carrying the unconscious Morlocks out of the theatre.

"Spirited effort as always, X-Men, but the authorities will take it the rest of the way," Shaw said.

"Ah don't seem ta reckon ever seein' the local sheriff's office usin'…whatever it was they were just usin'," Rogue said.

"Nanomachines, simpleton," Donald Pierce said, flexing his mechanical arm. "Projectile nanomachines that temporarily inhibit mutant powers."

Rogue made a fist at Pierce.

"Ah've got somethin' simple for you too, Robocop. A ton of it," Rogue said.

Betsy picked up the dart that missed Marrow and examined it.

"Homeland security has become a much more complicated and hence profitable engagement. Kelly has greenlit outsourcing homeland security to different private military corporations due to the mutant crisis," Shaw said.

"And let me guess, this one just happens to be owned by Shaw Industries," Betsy said.

"As well as all its investors in the Hellfire Club, Miss Braddock," Jason Wyngarde smirked.

Madelyne rubbed his chest.

"And with this little demonstration I am certain we have risen to the top of Kelly's list," Shaw said.

"Demonstration?" Betsy said.

"Little?" Rogue said.

Betsy sneered at Shaw.

"Don't sound so disappointed, X-Men. Who do you think leaked Vaughn's true identity to the Morlocks?" Shaw grinned.

"After that, it was only a matter of sitting back and waiting for the predictable Morlocks to arrive seeking his blood," Harry Leeland said.

"The Morlocks' ill-conceived attack only served to further our agenda. They publically reaffirmed the reality of the 'scary mutant' to the nation and allowed us to display our new mutant hunting nanotechnology," Shaw said.

"And it doesn't bother you in the least that your money and your products will be used to terrorize your own kind?" Betsy said.

"My dear, the only thing that is of any concern to me is profit. There is one thing all people can agree on. It's not morality or ideals. It's the cold bottom line of dollars and cents. That is universal.

Humans will see the footage from today and lobby for our nanotechnology to be in every state, district, and county.

Mutants will see today's footage and realize now, more than ever, mutants are targets, and flock to have our mutant cosmetic surgery done to blend in better. Like any well run business, we profit from both sides," Shaw said.

"Vaughn had it done an' that didn't turn out too great for him," Rogue said.

"We know that. But the world does not. Vaughn took fool's pride in being a mutant and outed himself not long ago. Mutants will look at that and decide that if they conceal their mutation socially and physically, they can blend in and be just like everyone else," Wyngarde said.

"And that's really what this's all about, right? Being like everyone else? Hording money? That's how far we've come after all this time?" Betsy said.

"Things are the way they are for a reason," Pierce said.

"Agreed," Madelyne said.

"Until next time, X-Men. We have other engagements this evening," Shaw said.

"Always a pleasure, Miss Braddock," Wyngarde said.

"Tell Alex I said hello," Madelyne said to Psylocke and Rogue.

Shaw turned and headed for the exit with Madelyne, Pierce, Leeland, and Selene following.

"Quite a rousing show tonight, don't you think so?" Leeland said to Selene.

"I found it tawdry. Very, very tawdry," Selene dismissed.

"Yes. And thoroughly entertaining," Leeland said.

Rogue floated over to the other X-Men, strewn amid the rubble, unconscious. Betsy glanced at the dart. She wanted to go Colossus and transform her fist into steel and crush the damn thing into bits. Or be like Rogue and throw it as far as she could until it hit orbit.

She sighed.

Betsy knew she wasn't any of them.

She was Pyslocke.

And Pyslocke held onto the dart as she went to stir Jean, Scott, and Remy.


	13. Chapter 13 Part 1, 2, and 3 Complete

**Chile**

Hank carried Jubilee and followed Luis deeper into their refuge. Jubilation's pulse grew weaker. Hank's, stronger.

Poor kid had been through so much. To die here, like this…Wasn't right.

No. Perish the thought. Hank knew better than to write anyone off. Especially an X-Man. And that's what she was.

She wasn't a kid anymore. She was nineteen. Already. Felt like just yesterday Hank was introducing himself to her.

Just yesterday…

Hank swallowed. His dry, rank mouth struggled to gulp down the little saliva he was producing.

So much had changed over the years. Top to bottom, every last one of Hank's teammates, for better or worse, had undergone changes. Drastic ones, more often than not. Warren had become death and back, Emma repented, Jean died, came back, died, came back.

But Jubilation?

She was older. No doubt. That was a change.

But she didn't look much different now than when she was younger. Maybe Hank was just misremembering how young she truly used to be.

The thing was, of all the X-Men, Jubilee had changed the least on the inside. Things had happened to her. She lost her powers, became a vampire, and back. But through it all, there was one aspect of her that never changed.

She always seemed…

What was the right word? What was the most appropriate way to put it?

Hank loved Jubilation. She was his little buddy.

Maybe that was the problem.

Hank glanced down at her blood stained cheeks as her limp, unconscious body lay in his arms. Looking at her was like looking at sand in an hourglass slowly slip away.

Hank sighed.

She was his little buddy. She was Logan's sidekick. She was everyone's little sister.

She was an adult, but she still seemed like she hadn't grown up yet. At least not all the way.

And if Luis didn't hurry and get Jubilee to their healer soon, she might leave this Earth before having the chance to mature.

It hurt Hank to admit it. A part of him wanted to cradle her and protect her for the rest of his days.

Sometimes he wondered if that was doing more harm than good for her.

Wasn't too long ago Kitty was the new girl. Once upon a time Kitty would always need Storm or Logan or the Professor to look out for her.

Now?

Kitty could take perfect care of herself. In fact, it was usually Kitty looking out for the new kids at the institute.

Hank hated being compared to others, but he couldn't help compare Jubilee to Kitty and wonder why she couldn't be more like Kitty. Jubilee never seemed to expand her powers or improve her combat skills. She was about as powerful now as she was the day she walked into the Mansion. She was a little like Bobby in that way.

For all the times Hank and the others had to defend or aid Jubilee in battle, Hank knew the day would come when they wouldn't be there to bail Jubilee out.

What then?

When Jubilee was face to face with one of their ever growing list of enemies, what would she do if she was alone? Get captured and wait to be rescued?

Hank clenched her tightly as Luis led him into a dark chamber.

Perhaps a better question. Had the X-Men done a good enough job preparing her? She was older now than when he, Scott, Warren, Bobby, and Jean started all those years ago. But Hank could never imagine Jean, younger than Jubilee is now, so… helpless.

It was hard to walk the line between being a supporter and being an enabler. Was it Hank's fault? Had he and the others been enabling her to never grow up by always being there to bail her out of trouble?

Maybe there was credence to Bishop's methods. Maybe some tough love, some strict discipline is what someone like Jubilee needed to grow.

Maybe.

Maybe it was just so damn hot, and Hank's blood sugar was dropping. Hypoglycemia and dehydration were far better hallucinogens than even Kick. Not that Hank knew anything about that.

Luis guided Hank further into the cavernous chamber, lit only by torchlights.

Jubilation was his fellow soldier who fell in battle and needed help from her comrades. Nothing more, nothing less. She was a part of the team. She was an X-Man. Her getting knocked out on the Blackbird and not being a part of the fight was a fluke. An anomaly. An aberration.

It wasn't her fault. It wasn't a representation of who she is.

Luis held out his hand like a traffic cop. Without a word spoken, Hank understood. Hank stopped in his tracks.

Luis lifted a torch mounted on the wall and stepped deeper into the chamber toward a shadowy figure. The healer he mentioned, perhaps?

The fickle torchlight illuminated a young woman's face. She sat chained to the wall wearing mangled, rangy clothes, torn and unwashed. She was about Rogue's age. A young woman old enough to have a life of her own. But here she was, draped in shadows adorned by the dank chamber walls.

Luis approached her. A vile, contemptuous scowl carved onto his previously wooden expression.

"Stop sleeping, dog! Heal the girl!" Luis barked.

The vicious snipe to his voice made Hank cringe. No matter what this woman may or may not have done, there was no justification for speaking to someone like that.

"That tone is most certainly unnecessary," Hank said.

Luis did not even look at Hank. He was blind with rage. And apparently deaf with it too.

"I. Said. Heal her!" Luis snapped.

He snatched the woman by her sweat soaked hair and pointed her at Jubilee's unconscious body in Hank's arms.

The woman squirmed and sobbed, unable to slip free of Luis. Her chains rattled like a rusty tambourine.

"That is enough!" Hank said.

"You will do as I say!" Luis said.

He angrily released the woman's hair.

"Bring in the traitor!" Luis yelled.

Hank turned around. One of Luis' soldiers entered on command, dragging another prisoner by chains. The soldier tossed the prisoner at Luis' feet and spat on the man in disgust.

"Jorge!" the woman said and crawled toward the new prisoner.

"Allie!" Jorge said through tears.

Luis quickly grabbed Jorge and pulled him out of Allie's reach.

"I am tired of having to do this every time, dog!" Luis said.

He positioned himself behind Jorge. Luis removed his sidearm pistol.

"No!" Allie screeched.

Luis bashed the hilt of his gun against the back of Jorge's skull. The blunt steel split open Jorge's head. He dropped to his knees as blood gushed out the open gash.

"My word! Don't touch him again!" Hank growled.

Luis glared at Hank.

"We had a deal, outsider. This is not your concern. Do not make it yours," Luis said.

"I make it my concern! You have no right to abuse these people this way!" Hank stomped over to Luis.

Luis rolled Jorge onto his back. Luis clenched his fist, never breaking eye contact with Hank.

"And you would rather the girl die in your arms? Look at her! I can feel the ice from her body from here. So must you. She will be dead and useless within the hour if she is not healed. You would throw her life away for this, this traitor?" Luis said.

"What crime has this man and woman committed that was heinous as to warrant such barbaric torture?" Hank shouted.

Luis' fist trembled.

"An unforgivable one. Jorge was once one of us. More so. He was my dear friend. But he, knowing everything we know, loved and married that mutant dog!" Luis sneered at Allie.

"And for that, for love, you would betray your own friendship?" Hank said.

"He betrayed us!" Luis yelled.

He punched Jorge across the face. Jorge's orbit swelled from the brutal impact.

"God, please stop, just please…stop!" Allie crumpled to her knees.

With tears streaming, Allie extended her arms and used her mutant abilities to heal Jubilee.

"There…there, damn it, are you happy now?" Allie cried.

Jubilee's body temperature quickly rose. The deep lacerations tattooed across her body mended.

"Jubilation!" Hank beamed.

"Mmmm…Beast...?" Jubilee purred as she rolled over in Hank's arms.

"You're alive!" Hank squeezed her.

"…Dude…I do not feel right," Jubilee puffed out her cheeks as if she would retch.

"Oh!" Hank chuckled and lowered Jubilee to her feet.

"A thousand apologies. A little overzealous I was," Hank said.

"Yeah, yeah, no worries," Jubilee said.

She rubbed the back of her head.

"Um…Beast?" Jubilee said.

"Yes?" Hank said.

"…Where the hell are we?" Jubilee said.

"Certainly not in…" Hank started.

"And don't say not in Kansas. Again." Jubilee cut him off.

"When have I ever said that before? Of all people, I am not in the habit of repeating my-…" Beast said.

A massive tremor rattled through the entire base like a rippling shockwave. Hank, Jubilee, Luis, Jorge, and Allie collapsed to the floor. The base filled with the garbled noises of aching screams and rendered flesh. The crackle of fire and explosions reverberated through the floor.

"They've come!" Luis yelled.

"Who?" Jubilee said.

"…My brother," Luis said.

"It's time we end this insanity once and for all and repair the damage Cortez has done here," Hank said.

He stood up from the floor.

"Down!" Jubilee yelled.

She tugged on Hank's arm and he reflexively dropped down.

A flurry of steel tipped feathers struck across the chamber and clanged against the rear wall.

"Oh my stars and garters…" Hank said.

"See," Jubilee said.

"Warren!" Hank yelled.

Beast, Luis, and Jubilee clung to the floor, facedown. Hank's furry, mitt sized hands clasped against the back of his head as metallic feathers whizzed past.

"It's us-…" Hank shouted.

"Kill them!" Luis snarled.

Luis rolled out of the line of feather-tipped fire. He sprang to his feet, eyes ablaze, and charged into the front line of the battle inside his own base.

Plasma shots lit the cavernous, underground base like fireworks. Plumes of sedimentary debris and ash spread through the caves from every blast. The chalky rubble whisked into Hank's un-expecting nostrils and swept over his blue fur, painting him sandy brown.

"Love the new look," Jubilee said.

Hank coughed violently. His body hoped to evict the unwanted dust in his lungs. It wasn't working.

"In-*cough cough*…" Hank hacked, "…dubitably. We must find Bishop and Emma, now is our optimal chance, follow Luis!"

"Sounds like a plan," Jubilee said.

She cocked an eyebrow.

"Who's Luis?" she said.

"The kind gentleman next to us not thirty seconds ago," Hank said.

"Oh. Must've missed the meet and greet while I was unconscious trying not to die," Jubilee said.

"And whose fault is that?" Hank mumbled.

"What?" Jubilee said.

Plasma shots rocketed over their heads and smashed into the wall behind them. The thunderous impact rattled the entire base.

"Nothing…" Hank said, "I believe it would behoove us to be on our way!"

Hank hopped to his feet. Jubilee followed suit.

"Behoove away!" Jubilee said.

The two X-Men scampered west through the base amidst the crossfire.

Hank rounded the corner back to where he parted from Bishop and Emma. Two mutant rebels locked onto Beast. Their arms glowed with surges of energy waiting to release on Beast.

"Destroy them all!" the first rebel yelled.

Hank flipped into the air. He bounced off the low, rocky ceiling and recoiled back at the two mutants like a sandy pinball slamming into them.

A third mutant rebel popped out from cover behind a row of metal containers. Hank dashed to the side. The mutant's energy blast whiffed the side of Hank's shoulder.

"Argh!" Hank grimaced.

"Back off!" Jubilee shouted.

She throttled the mutant rebel with a burst of concussive light.

Jubilee ran to Hank, compressing the gash on his shoulder.

"What would you guys do without me?" Jubilee said with a smile.

"A question we've all asked," Hank said.

Jubilee helped him back to his feet.

"Judging by the pitched battle around us, it would be safe to assume the mutants have attacked the base," Hank said.

"Nice. And…whose side are we on again?" Jubilee said.

"Luis is the leader of this human base, and Cortez happens to be his prisoner. Bishop, in his infinite wisdom…agreed to aid Luis and the humans against the mutant rebels in exchange for Cortez," Hank said.

"And from the sound of it, I'm sure you were in full support of that decision," Jubilee said.

"The professor, Scott, Jean, and Storm chose Bishop to lead, thus lead he shall," Hank said.

He cut deeper down the corridor with Jubilee watching the rear.

"It's not for me to second guess his questionable decisions," Hank said.

He cleared his throat.

Couldn't be further from the truth.

"Sucks they didn't pick you to lead. You've been an X-Man since what, the Stone Age?" Jubilee said.

"Something like that," Beast said.

Jubilee had that remarkable gift of youth to be able to directly talk to someone…as if they're not even there.

Remarkable.

Beast didn't want to lead. Didn't want the responsibility. That was the truth.

So what was bothering him so damn much?

Nothing.

Nothing was wrong.

Really.

Hank was happy for Bishop.

He was. Genuinely. And Hank knew, much like Scott and Storm in the past, that if leadership was a race, then it's a marathon, not a sprint. Decision making would be slow in the beginning and gradually pick up steam. Just the heavy nature of wearing the crown.

Hank was there. He lived through it. He watched Scott and Ororo stumble through poor decisions and eventually grow into the fine leaders they are today. Bishop was entitled to the same courtesy of patience.

"Move, Mccoy!" Bishop shouted.

Barreling down the cavernous tunnels came Bishop, his bruised and lacerated body glowing with absorbed energy, with Emma flanking him in her diamond form. They were a motley, but oddly effective wrecking crew. Bishop was a tank smashing through the line of attackers. Emma, ever judicious, slipped in and out from around Bishop to surgically strike down the rest with precision chokeholds.

Rows upon rows of wounded Chileans lay at their feet. Unconscious and drenched in blood, it was hard to tell which side was which.

"Jubilee!" Emma beamed.

Her voice was filled with an uncharacteristic, almost off-putting…joy?

Emma raced over to Jubilee and reverted from her diamond form. Her eyes roamed up and down Jubilee in search of the faintest scratch.

The White Queen only displayed, or allowed herself to display, that kind of passion under two circumstances. Clothes sales. And her students.

Emma caught herself before snatching Jubilee in a bear hug and composed herself. It looked like an imaginary fishing line snagged her and reeled her back into the dour persona she liked to project.

Emma cleared her throat. Her wide, elated eyes and gaping grin cooled into her half-open stare.

"…So good of you to join us, dear," Emma said distantly.

"Yeah, well, dead's really not my thing," Jubilee said.

"It's quite last season," Emma said.

"Luis lived up to his end. Now we must do the same," Bishop said.

"Glad you're ok, Jubes. Thanks, B," Jubilee mumbled to herself.

Bishop glanced at her for a second.

"And what end, pray tell, would that be? Kidnap a boy from his father simply because his father is a mutant?" Beast said, puffing his chest out.

"If it means getting Cortez then yes," Bishop said.

"That's barbarous!" Beast yelled.

Bishop took a deep breath. Never blinking. Never turning from Beast.

"With all due respect, Mccoy, science is your arena. War is mine. And sometimes in war you make concessions to get the job done," Bishop said.

"Not when you wear this!" Hank angrily pointed at the "X" logo on his belt buckle.

"Boys!" Emma stepped between Bishop and Beast. She was like a toothpick stuck in a trash compactor.

"I thought you might like to know I've been able to telepathically reach Bobby and Warren. From what our two prodigals tell me, they are with the mutant Quechuans. They destroyed the power dampeners here in the base and are looking for their healer," Emma said.

"Jubilee and I had a much more…pleasant way of learning of Warren's presence." Hank reached his head over his shoulder to examine the shears in his fur from where Warren's feathers grazed him.

"Good work, Frost. In the confusion we can peel off and find Cortez," Bishop said.

"I thought you might like that," Emma said.

"Send out a telepathic signal to the Mansion for extraction. We find Archangel and Iceman then go for Cortez. Stay together! We can't risk getting separated again," Bishop said.

"We're not really just going to let all these guys kill each other. Right?" Jubilee said.

"Apparently saving lives is not the greater good anymore, Jubilation," Beast said.

"Without Cortez, _every_ life on our little planet will be lost. Sweet, sweet, naïve, Henry. Mathematics is your forte after all. And unless I'm mistaken, 'every' is worth more than some," Emma said.

Bishop turned to Beast. Bishop's hardened stare softened.

"…We'll do what we can. I can't promise anymore," Bishop said.

Beast gritted his teeth and sighed through his nose.

"…It's a start at least," he said, "If they're heading for their healer, then Warren and Robert must be beyond this tunnel."

Beast led the way, bouncing down the darkened rock tunnel back toward the makeshift prison cells.

Emma, Jubilee, and Bishop followed. Bishop went beside Jubilee as they ran.

"Jubilation…" Bishop said softly, or as softly as his throttling tenor voice would allow, "…I am glad you're ok."

Jubilee caught herself smiling and kept facing forward.

"…Thanks, B," she said.

Beast sped down the tunnel. The flicker of mutant energy blasts and the crunching sounds of broken bones grew louder with every step.

"Prepare yourselves. Around this corner is their prison chambers and most certainly both armies," Hank said.

Bishop's eyes illuminated with raging absorbed energy.

"I'm prepared," Bishop said.

Emma assumed her diamond form.

Sparks flickered from Jubilee's hands.

Hank glanced at his teammates. For all the bickering they did. For all the clashes of philosophy they had. There was one thing crystal clear in Hank's mind.

God have mercy on anyone who came across the four of them in a dark alley.

Hank found himself smiling. He inhaled deeply.

"Then, compatriots, in the words of a fellow Henry, once more, unto the breach!" Hank said.

The Blue team turned the corner. Hank, Emma, Bishop, and Jubilee were a stampeding mob ready to attack the first shadow that moved.

Until Hank screeched to a halt.

Alejandra, the mutant healer, stood in the middle of the chamber amidst the deafening firefight.

On one side were the Quechuan humans. Luis stood in command in front of his troops. They pumped their rifles and fired at the invading Quechuan mutants, led by Tomas.

Two familiar, blue and silver faces were among the mutants.

"Warren, Robert!" Hank called out.

"Guys! Thank, God," Bobby called back to his three friends. And Emma.

Hank, Jubilee, Bishop, and Emma ducked behind cover beside the rest of the Quechuan humans, pinned by the mutants' fire. Luis rallied from cover and charged forward at the mutants.

Warren took aim. A barrage of anesthetic feathers narrowly missed Luis' head, forcing him deeper into cover.

"Move, woman!" Tomas barked at the healer.

Her chains had been severed. She was no longer Luis' prisoner. But she hesitated.

"I won't leave without Jorge! You have to save him!" she screamed.

Tomas' nostrils flared. He glared at her husband, Jorge, writhing in pain and still shackled to the wall. Blood oozed from his swollen, deep purple cuts. Mangled, belabored breaths wheezed in and from his lungs.

"Flatscan's earned his fate," Tomas said.

He spat on Jorge.

"Do not make me tell you again." Tomas scowled at Alejandra.

Alejandra shot like a cannon to her feet. She shoved Tomas.

"I don't care about your crazy war! I don't want any of this! No one does! He's my husband for God's sake! I love him! Have you forgotten what that means?" Alejandra shouted.

Tomas smacked her to the ground. His sweaty palm left a ruby red imprint on her cheek.

She rolled on her side. Tomas stomped his boot on her rib cage, crunching the bones beneath his feet.

She gasped for what little air she could muster. Tears streaked down the side of her cheek.

"You would love this!?" Tomas angrily snatched Jorge by the throat, "This!"

"Don't!" Bobby yelled.

He turned, readying to sheathe Tomas in a case of ice.

A Quechuan mutant tackled Bobby before he could hit Tomas and smothered him on the ground.

"Get off him!" Warren said.

The winged X-Man ceased firing on the Quechuan humans and sunk a feather tip into the spine of the mutant wrestling with Bobby.

"Traitors!" another Quechuan mutant yelled.

A sizzling fire-bolt scorched Warren in the back. He tumbled to the blood stained floor and crashed into Bobby.

Tomas yanked Jorge by the throat.

"We've wasted enough time!" Tomas growled.

He ripped out Jorge's jugular vein and throat with his bare hands.

"No!" Alejandra screamed through broken breaths.

Tomas flicked his blood soaked fingertips at Alejandra. He reached down and grabbed her by the back of her crimson dyed hair.

"Disgusting slut…heal the others! Do as I tell you!" Tomas barked and threw her face down toward the wounded.

Alejandra trembled on all fours. Her calloused elbows and knees rattled.

"…What…what could he have possibly done to you to deserve this?" Alejandra mumbled.

"He's not one of us. We are not human," Tomas coldly stated.

Alejandra looked up at him. Then to the rows of bodies strewn about the base.

Her eyes began to glow a paisley white.

"No…we haven't been for a long time," Alejandra said.

A dark aura emanated from her quivering flesh. She erupted from her hands and knees with explosive energy.

"And never again!" she shouted.

Bobby rubbed his head. He slid from underneath Warren's unconscious body.

That dark energy.

The ghoulish white eyes.

Bobby's eyes flickered in disbelief.

He'd seen that type of energy aura.

Avalon.

Magneto.

When his powers had been supercharged uncontrollably by…

"Oh no," Bobby said to himself.

Bobby glimpsed a shock of long, orange hair like a blur skimming across the far side of the base.

Bobby summoned an ice shield to cover him and Warren.

Alejandra floated off her toes. Bullets and energy blasts melted before they could penetrate her radiant field.

Like a dying star, a blinding wave of energy exploded from her body. Swirls of dark energy ripped through the underground base.

Bishop, Emma, Hank, and Jubilee tucked and covered.

"Stay down!" Bishop shouted to his teammates.

"N-No argument here, boss man!" Jubilee shouted back, her body curled in a ball on the ground.

"Barring our possibly impending demises, it's still quite a magnificent sight!" Hank said in awe of the crackling bursts of energy coloring the base.

"Hush, Henry. She's just another bloody Jean wannabe!" Emma said.

"Ice queen's bringing the heat!" Jubilee said.

Alejandra's supercharged healing power flared in every direction. Sparks tore into the rocky walls. Chunks of the ceiling smashed to the ground.

Every mutant and human standing was consumed in a tempest of unstable energy. Quechuans twisted and contorted like broken marionettes. Their bodies burning out from being overly healed. Rendered to charred carapaces. It was like watching dozens of electrical sockets simultaneously blowing out from energy overloads. Except these sockets were made of flesh and blood. The Quechuans collapsed one by one, snuffed out like blackened cigarette butts.

The last stokes of energy effused from Alejandra. Her drained body, now a lifeless husk, crumbled back to the ground, never to rise again.


	14. Chapter 14

**Chile**

Mounds of soot rained down on Hank's furry back. He looked like a big brown groundhog peeping out of from the dirt.

Not a single Quechuan was left standing.

"My word," Hank said solemnly.

Piles of unconscious and lifeless bodies lined the ground like stiches. Artillery shells and blood stained knives laid to rest beside their fallen human masters.

The pungent, crispy stench of burnt flesh hit Hank's olfaction with the grace of an Adamantium fist. It was like the time they let Wolverine grill steaks on the barbecue.

Well, maybe this didn't smell that overcooked. But this was close.

Hank wheezed. After a violent spasm he coughed up dirt residue caught in his throat. His eyes burned from the wall of debris pushing through the air. He blinked repeatedly. Desperately. He could barely make out the shape of his teammates beneath all the rubble.

A pearl of sweat glistened around Hank's brow.

He dug and dusted through the ashes. Somewhere buried beneath the debris were his friends.

"Someone… say something," Hank said.

"…Ungh…something," Bobby yelled.

Hank whipped his head to the side.

Bobby, with Warren draped over his shoulder, limped across the desolate battlefield.

"Robert!" Hank said.

"Beastie boy," Bobby staggered over to Hank with Warren in tow, "We really need to pick better vacations."

"International travel is always a mess." Hank helped ease Warren off Iceman's shoulder, "How is he?"

"You tell me, doc," Bobby said.

He and Hank rested Warren onto the floor.

"He took a pretty big shot in the back. How about the others?" Bobby said.

"…Fine, Drake," Bishop mumbled from under the fallen ceiling. It sounded like the wreckage itself was talking.

Bishop rose from the rubble as if the jagged hunks of boulder were fallen leaves. The fallen rocks had sliced his broad shoulders and thighs, drawing blood like red pencil marks.

Jubilee and Emma, in her diamond form, crawled out from under Bishop.

Emma glanced back at Bishop. She gave him an ever so subtle smirk.

"That was…surprisingly pleasant," Emma said.

"It wasn't. We almost died," Bishop said.

Jubilee elbowed Bishop.

"Not what she means, B. Sheesh," Jubilee said.

"I am aware. And it wasn't," Bishop said.

"Ha!" Emma gave a haughty laugh, "There's plenty about me you are not aware of, Lucas."

Emma reverted from her diamond form. "Yet."

"And pray you never learn," Hank mumbled.

"Preach, brah," Bobby said.

Emma shot Bobby a fiery stare that pierced his ice skin. Bobby lowered his eyes to the floor like a scalded dog.

"Better," Emma said.

A chilling quiet swept over the Blue Team like an autumn wind.

The battle was over. But this wasn't the Danger Room. And those weren't droids and holograms crumpled on the floor.

"We sure leave big footprints…" Jubilee said.

"Size twenties," Bobby sighed.

"This would've happened regardless if we were here or not," Bishop said.

"Which makes our action, or inaction rather, all the more tragic," Beast said, just loud enough for everyone to hear.

"The sooner we grab Cortez the sooner we can all get out of this place," Bishop said.

"N-No one is going anywhere!" Luis seethed.

He staggered to his feet. The Blue team dead in the crosshairs of his plasma rifle.

"You think you can just walk away! You think you're allowed to just walk away! Look at what you outsiders have done to our people!" Luis trembled with rage.

"Calm down, friend, war's over!" Bobby said.

"The war you started! The war we had no business in!" Luis shouted.

"Dude! We literally just got here! We had nothing to do with…" Jubilee said.

"Shut up! Shut your mouth or so help me I swear I'll shut it for you!" Luis said.

He took a step closer. His aim locked between Jubilee's eyes. But his eyes…his eyes wavered onto the bodies around him.

"…Over there…she…you know that's my cousin. My own damn cousin. My blood. And over there, my neighbor for ten years. Shot…shot him myself," Luis said.

"It's alright, it's alright," Hank said gently, reassuringly.

Luis took a deep breath, vacuuming air in through his nostrils.

"We weren't like this. Then the outsider came. And we came to hate one another. More outsiders came. You. And we came to kill one another. Someone has to pay for that!" Luis cried.

He pulled the trigger.

"Move!" Bishop yelled.

A plasma bolt hurtled at the Blue team.

Bobby quickly summoned another ice shield to block the attack. The plasma bolt shattered the ice shield and detonated. The massive impact launched the Blue team across the room.

"You think you can just come here, play god with our lives then just leave because you can! This was our home! This was our lives you played wi-!" Luis cried.

Tomas speared Luis from behind. The two brothers tumbled to the ground, wrestling for control.

"…This was never about the outsiders…it was always about us! You and me, brother!" Tomas snarled.

He strangled his brother. His fingers formed a bony noose around Luis' throat.

"Why, Louie… why did you have to take her from me? You were my brother!" Tomas tightened his grip.

"You killed her! It was you, it was you and you know it! She didn't deserve any of it! She should still be alive if it weren't for you!" Luis growled.

"I never touched her!" Tomas shouted.

He rammed the back of his brother's head onto the jagged floor over and over. A pool of blood formed around Luis.

"Dad!"

Tomas paused. His son, Franco, sprinted into the chamber, weaving around the battered bodies on the ground.

"Dad, stop! Please!" Franco raced over to Luis.

"Don't hurt Uncle Louie!" Franco begged.

"He's a lying, cheating human! Just like the rest of them!" Tomas snarled.

"He's not the rest of them! He's my uncle!" Franco said.

He rammed his father and pushed him off his uncle.

Tomas looked at his son. The pain pouring from Tomas' flush face…it was as if his son put a bullet in his heart.

"…My own flesh and blood…" Tomas staggered to his feet, "…a human lover."

Tomas turned his back to Franco. He bit his tongue. Shut his eyes. Anything to hold the tears.

"…You are not my son. Not now. Not ever again. I renounce you. My son is dead today," Tomas said.

"Dad, please…I love you. I just want us to be a family again," Franco said, tears aging his young eyes.

"You are not my family," Tomas said.

He stepped over his brother's bloody body. Franco charged at his father again. This time, Tomas swatted him to the ground.

"And…" Tomas inhaled deeply, "…neither is he."

"Wait!" Franco cried.

Tomas lifted his right leg and stomped his foot through his brother's skull.

Franco snatched a crimson stained dagger off the floor.

"AAAAARGH!" Franco roared at his father.

Franco jammed the blade into his father's back until the tip pierced through his stomach. Tomas slinked to the floor. His eyes open. Frozen.

Franco tried to pull the knife from out his father. He grunted and wriggled it, but the handle was hooked too deep in tissue to dislodge it. Franco's blood-soaked hands quivered until he let the knife, and his father, go.

Tears dripped from his soft, oval eyes like the droplets of blood from his fingers. Tiny puddle of bloody tears formed at his feet.

Franco pried his eyes off his father's corpse, lain crisscrossed over his uncle's dead body. Lifeless mutant and human shells together, forming an X shape. Franco took a final, deep gaze at the life he knew, dead in front of him, and marched out the base to face the new life waiting for him. One without his Dad. Or his Uncle Louie.

The underground base, perhaps once a magnificent subterranean burial chamber, didn't look much different from its original purpose. Bodies littered the crimson grounds, crumpled like used tissues carelessly tossed aside. Used up and thrown away. Humans and mutants alike.

But from the smoke and ash, from the blood and betrayal, the X-Men rose.

Bobby, reverted back to his human form, crawled from across the room toward his friends, dragging a very weary and lucid Warren. Hank, Emma, Bishop, and Jubilee staggered to their feet following the shuddering impact of Luis' plasma bolt.

Poor kid. Patricide was an unthinkable crime. But for Hank…after everything he had witnessed and been through as an X-Man, as a man, he understood.

Hank understood that fear and ignorance could burgeon into anger and hate. And Hank could feel the hurt in the orphan child. Hank could almost reach out and touch the rays of pain and betrayal ebbing off the lad.

How…why did it have to come to this? Why did it always have to come down to this? Someone plays God and it ends with brother killing brother.

Trail of Tears.

Civil War.

Holodomor.

The Holocaust.

History of mankind right there.

Hank bit his lip.

And if Hank and his friends didn't do something, Exodus would do the same.

The shrill tenor of hands clapping shattered the silence.

Hank's pupils tented.

The jarring, deliberate rhythm of the claps were not the applause of admiration or enjoyment. These were the pithy, sardonic claps meant for mice finally reaching the cheese.

"Bravo, X-Men, bravo," Fabian Cortez said, "I knew you would deliver. You always do."

"Cortez!" Hank snarled.

Cortez nonchalantly walked toward the X-Men. Unchained. Unrestrained. His faux clapping and smug smirk just made Beast want to pretend Hank Mccoy didn't exist. That punch-able face made Beast want to pretend he was Beast and only Beast. A wild, vicious animal who could tear Cortez to pieces without repercussion. Without it being wrong.

A beast was well within his right to mete out justice with an eye for an eye, jungle style.

But he wasn't a beast. He was the Beast, Hank Mccoy.

"How did you…?" Hank stammered.

"Oh please, Mccoy," Cortez bellowed a hoarse, hearty laugh, "You honestly believe these… these savages could contain me without my allowing it?"

"Definitely not your mouth," Bobby said.

"Then all this time you've seemingly been a prisoner here, you could have escaped whenever you wanted?" Hank said.

"To what gain, pray tell?" Emma said.

Cortez inhaled and admired the devastation around him. His broad smile like a slit watermelon.

"Isn't it glorious? Look at what I've accomplished," Cortez said.

"Yeah, sainthood's right around the corner, bub," Jubilee said.

"When I first came to this backwards village, these natives didn't even know what a mutant was. Mutants and humans living in perfect harmony. Would you believe, the mongrels were naïve enough to believe that their powers were simply gifts from the gods?" Cortez snorted.

Hank shifted his eyes at the word "gifts." Something about the snooty, elitist inflection in Cortez's voice made it sound like it was the most absurd idea known to man that mutant powers could possibly ever be considered gifts.

Cortez walked over to Luis and Tomas' dead bodies. He squatted beside them.

"See these two? Brothers. When I first arrived seeking 'refuge and aid,' they led their peaceful mongrel tribe together. They were inseparable. But it didn't take much to corrupt them," Cortez said.

He grabbed Tomas' limp head.

"No, it didn't take much at all. Isn't that right, Tommy? See, we're all alike in the end. Tommyboy here, he loved his brother's wife. Loved her. But thou shalt not covet thy neighbor's wife. So he hid his feelings, and they went on with their little lives, pretending to be a family. Pretending to be civilized.

One day, I orchestrated outside raiders to attack their village. Luis and Tomas led their warriors to repel the attack. And they did. Just as I planned. But when it was over, suddenly the people were cheering Tomas' superhuman gifts from the gods for saving the village, instead of Luis' strategic planning," Cortez said.

He dropped Tomas' head and pinched Luis' cheeks.

"Oh, this one, so jealous. So hurt. Weren't you? Jealous little puppet. He saw the cheers and admiration from his people toward his mutant brother and those like him. He saw how the wind was blowing. I got in his ear and simply fanned. I warned him this was only the beginning. Yes, soon the people would be ensnared by these mutants. They would overlook his contributions and leadership for the flashy, powerful mutants, and eventually, the mutants would rise up and believe they didn't need the humans anymore. All I did was tell him what he already knew," Cortez said.

He stood up.

"He had to stop it before it happened. And I told the mutants the same. The puppets did the rest. Tomas was convinced his brother, who in his mind already stole the woman he loved, was preparing to destroy all the mutants. Tomas wanted so badly to believe it was true.

He wanted so badly an excuse to take Luis' wife. He thought his brother was a paranoid human who stole the woman he loved to stifle him because he was a mutant. He was so content and eager to blame all his troubles on him being a mutant. It was like a huge weight of responsibility was lifted off him when I explained to him he was not gifted by god. He was just a common mutant. A genetic mistake that the humans would always fear and hate.

It was something to see. Tomas righteously confronted his brother to liberate the woman he loved. And with a little flame stoking on my part, I subtly manipulated Tomas' powers. When he fought his brother, his powers flared out of control. And in the crossfire, Luis' wife was killed. Both brothers blamed one another, and the battle lines were forever drawn." Cortez gave a savage grin.

"That's low, dude," Jubilee said.

"Even for him," Bobby said.

"It doesn't surprise me in the least. Snakes slither," Emma said.

"Surely, Frost, you of all people would appreciate the art in deception on this grand of a scale? The skill required to move mountains with the gentlest push of a few buttons." Cortez locked eyes with Emma.

She paused.

Hank glanced at his teammate. Emma shuffled her body weight onto her left leg.

"…The only thing I appreciate, dear, is how truly miserable and pathetic your little existence must be," Emma said.

"That's not a no in any language I speak, Frost," Cortez said.

Bishop grabbed Cortez. He corralled the former Acolyte by the collar and slammed him against the wall.

"Then let me put it in a way so you can understand! We came here for one reason only. You're going to tell us where to find Exodus, and you're going to do it before my fist reaches your face!" Bishop growled.

"Preferably after!" Jubilee said.

"Fitzroy was wrong about you, Mr. Bishop…" Cortez smirked, "…He told Shinobi and I you were a brilliant warrior and worthy adversary."

Bishop sneered. His fist trembled.

"Give it to him, B!" Bobby said.

Cortez winked at Bishop.

"But you're really just…common. Another Wolverine clone who cannot see past his own fists," Cortez said.

"Seeing past my fists is your problem, not mine," Bishop growled.

"I believe you're forgetting our little agreement, aren't you, Mr. Bishop?" Cortez said.

"Huh?" Bobby said.

Bishop angrily scrunched up his face.

"My unconditional release for Exodus' location…" Cortez looked dead in Bishop's eyes, "…So, release."

Bishop tightened his grip.

"Whoever said I intended to honor that agreement?" Bishop said.

"Oooh, what a delightful twist," Emma said.

Hank exhaled.

If what Cortez said was true, if he was indeed reunited with the Upstarts, then how could they let him go free? After all the chaos he caused here, there was no way Cortez could be allowed to just walk away. If they didn't do something now, then they would most certainly regret it later. Cortez and the Upstarts, sooner or later, would be back to cause more death and destruction.

Hank took a long deep breath.

"…Lucas." Hank rested his hand on Bishop's shoulder.

Hank gently shook his head no.

"Henry…" Emma said.

Bishop swiveled from Cortez to Beast. Sadistic grin to defeated grimace.

"Do as the blue gorilla says," Cortez said.

Bishop shut his eyes. He spiked Cortez to the ground like a football then walked off.

"We'll regret this. You know that, Henry," Emma said.

"I'll add it to the pile," Hank said.

Cortez stretched his back.

"Excellent, X-Men. Predictable as ever but no less excellent. Now the mice may have their treat for crossing the maze," Cortez said.

"Brie or swiss?" Bobby mumbled.

"You were right to seek me out. Exodus is an unusual creature. He exclusively sees life on a philosophical level. He has no emotional link to anyone or anything, which makes him far more dangerous to me than even Magneto. I could reason with Magneto. Manipulate him. He had emotions and attachments. Heart strings that could be pulled.

Exodus is devoid of all that. And frankly, that is what unsettles me the most about the man. He is one hundred percent driven by whatever beliefs he latches on to at a given moment. He once worshipped Magneto, but he is far more akin to you X-Men," Cortez said.

"Right. And Living Monolith's my kid brother," Jubilee said.

"This is not the time, Jubilation…" Hank shushed her.

Cortez glanced at Hank.

"I may have underestimated you after all, Mccoy. You see more than you let on. I can see the unease in you as we talk about him. Exodus is governed entirely by abstract ideals, which makes him rigid, fanatical, and lethal.

He almost killed me once. And he did so in a way where I felt, for the first time…completely helpless. To protect myself against him, I set out to understand him, should our paths cross again.

Exodus has a shrine he maintains in the Swiss Alps, where he ruminates, meditates, and recharges his powers. I shall upload the precise coordinates to you, X-Men," Cortez said.

He rose to his feet. Dusted off his clothes.

"And, X-Men…thank you. You just put me in the lead." Cortez chuckled.


	15. Chapter 15

**War Room**

Logan perked up in his chair. In the gruff, grisly way Logan could perk up.

"'Bout time we got started. Tiddly winks was gettin' old," Logan said, a gleam in his eagle eyes.

"Ja, and we all know how much Herr Logan enjoys his tiddly winks," Kurt Wagner said.

"Can it, Crawler," Logan said.

Kurt sat beside Logan at the long, luminous war room table. Across the silver table stood their leader, Ororo, with Peter and Kitty seated beside her.

The spotless steel doors swooshed open. Professor Xavier glided into the War Room to join his Gold Team. A haggard expression dampened his eyebrows like storm clouds. Dark, heavy clouds about to burst.

Charles inhaled deeply. And instantly, the doubts and fears that stretched for miles across his long face were gone. Replaced by the stoic stone face of Professor X. The face of unflappable courage and resolve that his students loved, and loved to hate. The face that unified so many disparate individuals to one undying cause.

He was the world's most powerful telepath. A skill honed through practice. On himself. In these dire times, the X-Men didn't have much need for Charles Xavier. Not little Charlie rife with anxiety and confused over what to do.

No.

They needed Professor X.

"I apologize for the delay. Your patience is greatly appreciated," The Professor said.

"Do not think of it, Professor," Ororo said gently.

She gazed at her mentor. Her eyes held him like the last note of a song until slowly drifting away.

Charles wasn't the only one attuned to the world around them. Ororo, like Charles, also had the power of manipulation.

His? The mind.

Hers? The elements.

But people were a lot like the elements. After all, what were people but powerful storms of emotion and glimmers of light?

The Professor seemed so tense. So controlled. His face was drawn tighter than bedroom curtains.

"I've had an opportunity to debrief with both the Red and Blue Teams respectively…" The Professor began.

Kitty nudged Peter.

"Took 'em long enough. They walk to Chile?" Kitty whispered.

"Katya, please," Peter shushed his girlfriend.

The Professor glided closer to the center table and initiated a program. A three-dimensional hologram of ice capped mountains popped up above the War Room table.

Logan glanced at the projection.

"Swiss Alps, huh? Great slopes and brew. Not much else," Logan said.

He reclined. Hiding, not particularly well, a smug grin of self-satisfaction.

"We are all well-aware of your exhaustive knowledge of the world, Logan. Please allow the Professor to finish," Ororo said.

"Just tryin' ta educate the youngins, 'Ro. We are still a school, ain't we?" Logan smirked.

"Hey! No X-Babies here, pal!" Kitty folded her arms.

"Fraulein, no one was looking at you," Kurt said.

Peter quickly looked away from Kitty.

Kitty whipped her head around at Peter.

"Got something to say?" she said.

"…" Peter opened his mouth and paused.

"…" His mouth hung open.

Kitty's death stare locked on Peter. He subtly glimpsed Kurt from over her shoulder miming a motion of twirling his hair.

"… Your… hair is… having a beautiful day," Peter stammered.

Kitty scrunched up her face.

"… I hate you," she said.

"… Phew," Peter mumbled under his breath.

"What was that?" Kitty said.

"… Er… love you?" Peter said.

Kitty shook her head.

"This one. Thank God you can get by on cuteness," Kitty said.

"That's quite enough, Kathryn…" The Professor gently interrupted.

Normally he would be sterner. With Kitty especially. But there was something therapeutic about the Gold team's bond, more so than with any of the other teams.

And Charles knew it. If they were to go against insurmountable odds, they would need each other's trust and security.

"… Logan is correct. After my discussions with the Blue Team and…" Charles paused, "… Magnus… we have learned the full extent of Exodus' powers and the coordinates to his base in the Swiss Alps," The Professor said.

Storm shot a look at Charles.

"Magneto? Did you think it wise to engage him alone, Professor?" Storm said.

"Not at all, Storm. But necessary," Charles said.

"Forgive me, Professor, but I still do not fully understand. Yes, Exodus caught us off guard earlier. But we have faced and defeated him soundly in the past. Surely we will do so again?" Peter said.

"Yeah, I'd understand if it was the Blue Team you were sending. They couldn't find ice in Alaska. But it's the A Team he'll be going against. We'll murderlate 'im!" Kitty said.

"Careful, Fraulein. Ravens crow loudest right before ze end," Kurt said.

"To answer Peter's query, cross-referencing the intelligence we received from Cortez and Magnus, Exodus' powers were, at one time, significantly augmented by Apocalypse."

"Lenin's ghost… Apocalypse," Peter said to himself.

"It is alarming to consider how much history has been shaped by Apocalypse that we are not even aware of," Storm mused.

"Ja, perhaps even our own," Nightcrawler said.

"Indeed. Exodus' powers laid dormant after Apocalypse sealed him in a crypt in the Swiss Alps for insubordination. It is apparent Exodus has now found a way to re-access the spectrum of his powers," The Professor said.

"And what is the full spectrum of his powers, Professor?" Storm said.

"Pokin' the bear, mainly," Logan said.

"And these grizzlies don't like having breakfast interrupted!" Kitty put her fists up.

"From all indications, Cerebro classifies him as an omega level mutant. He is capable of advanced telepathy, psychokinesis, and teleportation," Charles said.

"Ack. Quite an array. How would he suddenly manage to unlock all his powers after so much time?" Kurt said.

"Good question, Kurt. As for how he has done it, that is for you to determine…" Charles said.

"Wonderful," Kitty said.

"…The Gold Team will investigate his base in the Swiss Alps. Perhaps there is a clue that will elucidate how he has awakened his latent abilities. And perhaps that information can be used to reverse the process," Charles said.

"In the event that Exodus is there when we arrive, or expecting us…?" Ororo said.

"Then we bust 'im up, X-Men style!" Kitty said.

"I'll start by givin' mullet boy a nice trim around the ears," Logan said.

"You are aware what psychokinesis means, aren't you?" Ororo turned to Logan.

"Not a clue, darlin'," Logan smirked and tilted his chair back.

"It is what Proteus was, Mein Freund," Kurt said.

Logan almost fell out his chair.

He cleared his throat.

"Don't mean nuthin' ta me," Wolverine said.

"Which brings us to my final, uncomfortable, point…" Charles started.

"What is it, Professor?" Kitty asked.

"During their mission in Manhattan, the Red Team recovered weaponized nanomachines that were used against the Morlocks. The nanomachines suppressed their mutant powers on a cellular level. Henry is running tests on them in his lab as we speak," Charles said.

"Oh man, I'd love to see them! Beast always has all the fun!" Kitty said.

"Vunderful. More Genoshan slave collars," Kurt said.

"Not exactly. According to Elizabeth, the nanomachines were fired like tranquilizer darts. They are also commissioned by Shaw Industries," Charles said.

"And Hank's got the stuff in his lab?" Logan said.

"You are not suggesting, Professor, that we consider using these Inner Circle… darts against Exodus?" Storm defiantly said.

"Not suggesting, Ororo. Merely informing. I wish, as always, to equip you with any and all potential resources," Charles said.

"As always, we are grateful for your information and concern. But we will not resort to the methods of our enemies," Storm said.

"Tell it, 'Ro!" Wolverine said.

"I don't know, I mean… one sniper shot in the back would take Exodus right out the game," Kitty said.

"We are not in the habit of striking in the back," Peter said.

"Amen. These things sound like an abomination," Kurt said.

"C'mon. It's not the technology that's evil. People are. And the way they use it. But if it's in the right hands for the right cause then it can be a huge help," Kitty said.

"I believe your good friend, the Reverend Stryker, would perhaps say ze same thing," Kurt said.

"I am in agreement with Kurt. We must always strive to be better than those that would oppress us, regardless how much more difficulty our road becomes," Storm said.

"But that doesn't make any sense! By that logic, we shouldn't punch Exodus either because, guess what, hitting's wrong!" Kitty said.

"Please, Fraulein. One is a fair fight. Ze other is robbing a mutant of his birthright. There is no comparison between ze two," Kurt said.

"I hope it is a fair fight waiting for us, friend Kurt, but I will keep from holding my breath," Peter said.

"This is admittedly a divisive issue. One we may not have the time to debate in full. Henry still needs to fully analyze the technology. Until we have all the information available to us, we will shelve the conversation," the Professor said.

"We got all the flamin' information we need. Exodus' tryin' ta blow up the planet and we're the only ones who can do anythin' about it." Logan stood up.

"Very… concise, my friend. Prepare yourselves, X-Men, and meet in the Blackbird," Storm said.

"Remember, do not engage Exodus unless absolutely unavoidable. Godspeed, my X-Men," The Professor said.

Peter, Kitty, and Kurt raised from their seats.

"Ah, ze life and times of an X-Man," Kurt said.


	16. Chapter 16

**Swiss Alps**

Icy rain smacked the Blackbird. The frozen droplets pelted the windshield like rocks.

"We've reached ze coordinates Herr Cortez gave us. Now if we've reached Exodus' base is another story entirely," Kurt said.

"Only one way ta' find out, elf," Logan said.

"Ja…" Kurt said.

"Set her down, Tovarisch," Peter said.

Kurt nodded.

He glanced at Ororo, his copilot. His deafeningly quiet copilot.

She was such a graceful, reserved woman. Demure. Proud. Judicious with her words. Profound in her meanings.

But never silent.

Her chilling gaze out the window was every bit as frigid as the elements.

"My beautiful, lovely, Princess Ororo. Perhaps you would 'assist' me with our landing? From ze forecast, it looks to be a bumpy one," Kurt said.

"Partly sunny with a high of 82 would be perfect right about now," Kitty said.

"I would love nothing more, Kitten. But it seems I am unable to help Kurt. I have been _trying_ the entire voyage," Storm said.

Her voice cracked. Her voice never cracked.

"Sister?" Peter reached over to Storm.

"… I am fine, baby brother. It is the Earth itself that is not well," Storm said.

She rubbed her temples. The relentless hammering of sleet against the jet felt like nail after nail being driven in her skull.

"My powers gift me the ability to summon, not create, the elements. However, this… this weather is most certainly manmade," Storm said.

"Do not think of it twice. Forget I asked." Kurt offered a gentle smile to Storm, "Your dashing captain shall handle everything. Everyone, brace yourselves!"

"Know what that means…" Kitty glanced at Peter.

They took a breath.

And it was deep.

Very, very deep.

Kitty phased intangible.

Peter transmuted his flesh to organic steel.

"Anna and Warren have my envy," Colossus mumbled.

"I've crashed bigger rigs than this jalopy," Wolverine crossed his arms, "T'ain't nuth-INNN'!" Wolverine howled.

The Blackbird jerked to the side.

Nightcrawler clutched the pilot controls. He tightened his grip. And his face. A bead of sweat rolled off the tip of his pointy blue nose.

The shaky jet petered from the sky. A blot of ink streaking down the wintry white clouds.

Kurt released the landing gear. Thick, treaded tires skidded on the tundra until the Blackbird screeched to a zig zagged stop.

Kitty blinked. Repeatedly.

She phased through her seatbelt and staggered from her chair.

"… Are we dead yet?" Kitty said.

"Not for want of trying, Katya." Peter grabbed his stomach.

"You can't throw up now, we've gotta save the world!" Kitty massaged Peter's back.

"By the goddess…" Storm quickly unbuckled her chair and headed for the exit.

"Ack, everyone iz a critic." Kurt followed Storm out the Blackbird.

"Wasn't a bad landing, elf…" Wolverine put his arm around Kurt, "… but next time, ya might wanna use those things called the controls."

"I don't know, sometimes a good thrill here or zere iz precisely what ze doctor ordered." Nightcrawler smiled.

"Then, my friend, you can have my order," Colossus said.

Storm opened the hatch to the jet. A crushing gust of wind and sleet pushed into the cabin and knocked everyone down.

Everyone save for Storm.

She pressed, undaunted, through the vicious winds. It was like she was possessed. Guided by invisible torches toward the heart of the storm.

"Storm!" Wolverine yelled.

He pulled his signature yellow and black mask over his mutton-chopped face and dashed out into the blizzard after her.

"We're right behind you!" Kitty yelled as she and Kurt quickly bundled up their winter coats.

Wolverine trudged through the thigh-high snow behind Storm.

She lifted her arms. Palms open to the sky. And shut her eyes.

"If this' your go at a sense o' humor, darlin', try again," Wolverine said.

"This is not even real rain…" Storm mused to herself.

Snikt!

"Then let's go tell rain-man to stop." Wolverine crossed his Adamantium claws.

"… It is a facsimile of rain," Storm said.

Kitty, Kurt, and Peter caught up to Storm and Wolverine.

"A facsimile of a lot of rain." Kitty rubbed her arms for warmth.

"Please, sister, I do not fully understand." Peter turned to Storm.

"Ja, somezing about this all feels…" Kurt winced at the blistering wind.

"Cold. Very cold," Kitty said.

Storm's eyes opened.

"… From what I have gathered, Exodus has managed to suppress the natural elements and replace them with his own," Storm said.

"Zen your powers…?" Kurt said.

"I fear it will take tremendous effort to summon even a modicum of the elements." Storm sighed.

She rolled her shoulders. The same shoulders that had carried the X-Men so many years. The same ones that now seemed like they would collapse under the freezing rain.

"Nevertheless. This way. I sense the heart of the disturbance close by," Storm said.

She pointed east of the Blackbird at a mound of snow.

"Perhaps we should regroup," Peter said, a look of concern on his grimaced face.

Storm did not answer.

"Kitten, phase through until you reach the entrance to the crypt," Storm commanded.

Kitty peered at the mountainous snow.

"Umm…" Kitty started.

"This ain't the time." Wolverine gave her a harsh look.

Kitty shrugged her shoulders. She ghosted through the dense snow until she disappeared. Indistinguishable through the stretch of paper white snow.

"Found it!" Kitty yelled.

The thick layers of snow muffled her voice. It sounded like she was shouting into a hollow jar.

"You're up, Ruskie," Wolverine said.

"Da," Peter nodded.

He followed Kitty's voice. Leaving massive shoe prints in the snow with every step closer. Clearing snow was a rite of passage on the Collective. Every boy yearned for the day they were old enough, strong enough to help shovel a blizzard.

This time he didn't have a shovel. This time he didn't need one. His transmuted organic steel hands cusped together and sunk forearm deep into the snow.

With a primal grunt, the young man called Colossus ripped his mighty metallic arms into the air. Three feet of snow heaved over his head like a geyser of snowflakes.

"Quite impressive, Peter," Kurt said.

"That's my man!" Kitty said.

"Yes…" Storm stepped beside Peter, "…But perhaps I might be of assistance."

Peter glanced over his shoulder at Storm. Her eyes steelier than his very skin. It was the same intense gaze she had when she dueled Calisto a lifetime ago. The same one he saw in the Danger Room when she battled Scott for leadership. It was his big sister's look of determination. Of stubborn, blind will to not be denied.

"That is alright, Sister. Please save your energy," Peter said gently.

"I insist," Storm said.

She stared at the semi cleared path of snow. Stared as if optic blasts might shoot from her bloodshot eyes.

Storm extended her arms at the path. She looked like she was bracing for a runaway train. A visceral grunt escaped her lips like Colossus did before her. But unlike the Russian X-Man, Storm's grunt was one of pain. Agony.

Storm's fingers shook. Her body trembled. A feverish sweat broke over her forehead.

"It is alright, Storm, please… let Peter get it," Kurt said, biting his lip.

"Do not… ungh… underestimate me," Storm said.

She surged forward. A powerful, final burst of power charged from her soul. The chunks of snow parted to each side, revealing steps to a golden door with Kitty standing in front of it.

Storm collapsed to her knees.

"By the white wolf!" Peter draped Storm's arm over his shoulder, "Now I am certain. We must head back and regroup."

"You heard her…" Wolverine helped Peter get Storm back on her feet, "Don't underestimate the woman."

Storm dusted the snow off her shins and elbows.

Wolverine looked right in her eyes. The eyes of one of his oldest, dearest friends and confidants.

"It's your call, darlin'. Nobody else's. You say the word and we're back in the mansion," Wolverine said.

"Your concern…all your concerns… are appreciated. But, as I have said, I am fine," Storm asserted.

Peter and Kurt exchanged concerned looks.

"Kitten, phase Kurt through the other side of the door. Once you have seen the other side, Kurt, teleport the rest of us through," Storm said.

"… As you wish," Kurt said.

Kitty's eyes lingered on Storm. Her leader. Her mentor. Her friend.

Kurt held onto Kitty. The two became transparent. A power Storm did not have. As a mutant, or, right now, as a person.

Kitty phased Kurt through the towering golden door into a deep corridor inside the crypt.

"I'm worried about her, Fuzzy Elf," Kitty whispered.

"I know…" Kurt sighed, "… She is a proud woman, ja?"

"Tell me about it," Kitty said.

"We've all been tested one time or another. She'll work her way through zis." Kurt smiled.

"I've never seen her like this though. Even when she completely lost her powers that stretch a few years ago," Kitty said.

"Ja… methinks what is truly troubling her is not ze loss of her powers, but ze suppression of it. Herr Exodus is overpowering her and ze Earth. She must feel helpless. Trapped." Kurt said.

"Oh, God. Claustrophobic," Kitty lamented.

"She has survived worse. She will survive this." Kurt smiled.

He vanished into a plume of brimstone and Sulphur.

Kurt popped back up outside the crypt in front of Peter, Logan, and Ororo.

"Tickets please," Kurt said.

"I got my ticket right here, bub." Wolverine grinded his claws against each other and charged at the golden door.

"GGGGRAAAAAAHHHH!" Wolverine growled and sliced the golden door.

His Adamantium claws scratched the sterling surface like nails on a chalkboard.

"What's this flamin' thing made of?" Wolverine said.

"A riddle I most certainly would like the answer to," Storm said.

Kurt offered his hand to Storm.

"Ladies first," Kurt said.

He teleported her to the other side then came back for Wolverine and Colossus respectively.

Kurt panted. He had his head tucked between his legs with his hands on his knees like a winded sprinter after a race.

"… M-My kingdom for X-Men that aren't made of metal," Kurt said.

"My apologies, my friend. In hindsight, I should have transformed back to flesh," Peter said.

"Let's say I owe you a cold brew and call it even," Wolverine said.

"… Good enough," Kurt said.

"Geez, get a look at this place," Kitty said in awe.

Hieroglyphics decorated the sprawling corridor of the crypt on each wall. Storm took a closer look. She appraised the murals on the wall like a curator.

"Appears Egyptian. I wish Henry were here to translate," Storm said.

Wolverine focused on a hieroglyphic in the upper left corner.

"Don't need a PHD ta figure out what that means," Wolverine said, nodding at the image in the upper left corner.

A primitive, yet unmistakable image of En Sabah Nur looked down on them.

The other four X-Men paused.

"Lenin's ghost! Apocalypse!" Colossus said.

"So Magneto's report was accurate after all. Ack, I cannot lie, I hoped he was tricking ze Professor," Kurt said.

"I'm more worried about the writing next to the picture of old blue lips." Kitty pointed to the right of the Apocalypse hieroglyphic.

Burned into the wall was the same phrase over and over, 'Ex Nihilo."

Wolverine stared at the writing.

"Ex Nihilo. Outta nuthin'. Latin," Wolverine said.

"We're definitely not the only ones to be here," Kitty said.

"You are correct, Kathryne Pryde."

Exodus flashed in front of the Gold Team.

Snikt!


	17. Chapter 17

**Swiss Alps**

Wolverine slashed at the apparition of Exodus. His razor claws and savage snarl sliced through the musty air.

But not flesh.

Exodus teleported. A bust of light outlined his previous spot.

"What the flamin'…?" Wolverine said.

He barreled through the flash and swiveled his head. Where was he? Couldn't have teleported far.

Wolverine's nostrils opened like umbrellas in the rain. Wide. Glistening. Dots of sweat trickled down his nose. Teasing him. Laughing at him.

Couldn't get a scent on Exodus. Considering how poorly vented the crypt was, place should reek of mullet boy's stench.

It was one thing at the Mansion not to pick up Exodus' scent. He was probably using telepathy or voodoo or whatever. Fine. But here… didn't make sense. Wolverine should be able to track him. Easily.

Wolverine hunched over. A dull, monotone growl reverberated through his Adamantium skeleton like an engine idling. Waiting to roar.

"Exodus toys with us, Logan. Do not allow him to fluster you," Storm said calmly.

"Ja, perhaps a different approach would be best?" Nightcrawler put his hand on Logan's shoulder.

Wolverine yanked his shoulder away.

"Nobody toys with the X-Men and lives long enough ta laugh about it." Wolverine seethed.

Kitty nodded.

"Show yourself, bub! We didn't fly across the world to play Where's Waldo! Right, Pete!" Kitty yelled.

She tapped Peter's colossal, steel chest. Rallying her teammate, and lover, to battle.

Peter puffed out his chest as she spoke. Proudly. Firmly.

Until a look of confusion swept over his metal-washed face.

"… I am sorry, Katya. Where is who?" Peter said softly.

Kitty shook her head.

"Ugh, poor child. I'll tell ya later," Kitty said.

The narrow, stone walls trembled inside the crypt. Dusty sediments tumbled from the ceiling.

An all too quiet silence followed. Filled only with the shuffling of Kurt's feet.

"Zere will certainly be a later. I just hope we will be zere to enjoy it, Fraulein," Kurt said nervously.

"Do not lose your nerve, X-Men…" Storm said.

She lifted her chin. Raised her powerful, authoritative voice like a sudden gust of wind.

"…Understand this, Exodus, for I know you hear my words. We will not be intimidated by your parlor tricks nor do I have interest in speaking with shadows. Address us now or consent to the full fury of the X-Men!" Storm said.

"Your warnings are well met, Ororo Monroe, but unnecessary…"

Exodus teleported above the five X-men.

"…My Chosen Ones are in no danger," Exodus said.

"Ack…" Kurt blurted out, "… Enough of this sacrilege!"

Kurt glared at Exodus. His eyes burning like branding irons.

"You are not a god! You hear me? You are not a god, and you damn sure are not _my_ god!" Kurt said.

Kitty bit her lip. She'd risk her life at the drop of a hat to save the world. Or a friend. She'd run headfirst into fire without batting an eye.

But something about hearing her fuzzy elf swear… That painful tremble in his voice. The hate in his eyes. That was frightening.

"Plot whatever you want. Threaten ze planet and ze whole human race if you want. Go ahead. But do not dare mock what I and so many hold dearly!" Kurt shouted.

Exodus grinned.

"That is twice now you have doubted me, Thomas. You are allowed a third," Exodus said.

"I promise you, mein freund, it is more zan just doubts I have for you!" Kurt bawled his fists and vanished in a plume of brimstone.

"Kurt!" Storm called out to her teammate.

But Kurt was gone.

Nightcrawler reappeared behind Exodus and reached for his throat, only to grab air.

Exodus teleported behind Kurt. Flickering from spot to spot like a flashlight.

Ashen rays of energy seeped from Exodus' pale, ghoulish eyes. He locked on Kurt and fired a streak of energy that leveled Nightcrawler to the icy stone floor.

"AAACKK!" Kurt wailed in agony.

"Fuzzy elf!" Kitty yelled and dashed beside Kurt's prone body.

Wolverine crouched in battle stance. His jagged canines grinded together. Exodus' reflection glinted in his Adamantium claws.

"Ya wanted a scrap, bub, ya got a scrap! Fastball special, Pete!" Wolverine snarled.

"My pleasure, comrade," Colossus said.

He hauled the five foot three Canadian X-Man over his shoulder and launched him at Exodus like a shotput.

Wolverine's Adamantium laced body howled through the air. He bulleted closer and closer to Exodus. His sneering lips flapped in the wind like a rollercoaster ride.

Exodus waved his left hand at the approaching X-Man. A swirl of purple energy enshrouded Wolverine and stopped him mid motion. Midair. Suspending him inches from Exodus. So very few, so very many inches from Exodus.

Wolverine twitched and fidgeted, desperately trying to move any body part.

"What's goin' on?!" Wolverine hollered.

"You are deeply mistaken my children…" Exodus said.

He casually floated around Wolverine, leaving him suspended in the air. Paralyzed in a fastball special.

"Hey!" Wolverine's tone raised an octave, "… I ain't finished with you! Not by a longshot!"

Exodus hovered toward Storm and Colossus.

"Attack only on my signal, baby brother," Storm whispered.

"… This exercise is not for my sake. But yours." Exodus smiled, "Do not be alarmed. As I stated, you are in no danger here."

"Yeah?" Kitty applied pressure to a blood-soaked gash on Nightcrawler's lower back, "Tell that to Kurt!"

"A battle scar for a great warrior." Exodus gazed proudly at Nightcrawler.

"These delusions end now! Clearly you are not without intellect. Surely you would know, despite your garish claims of wishing the X-Men to be your chosen people, that our very nature would have us oppose you!" Storm said.

"Do not waste your breath, Sister. He and I, it shames me to remember, have worked together, however loosely and briefly. I have seen his mind work…" Peter said.

He looked straight at Exodus.

"… He cannot form decisions on his own. Many times he would retire to speak with an invalid Magneto for counsel. He does so again now. Only it is not the spirit of Magneto he listens to. It is the spirit of the X-Men," Peter said.

Exodus smiled. It was a soft. Genuine. Terrible smile.

"I admire you, my Chosen Ones. You have done your part. Now the onus is on me to carry out my end of this covenant," Exodus said.

"What covenant?! What? What are you even talking about?" Kitty snapped, "Say you do it. Say you blow up the planet, and the X-Men are all that's left. All we're going to do to our last breath is keep fightin' you! And Storm even said it! You're a complete psycho but not an idiot… I mean, c'mon, you gotta know that, right?"

"What you fail to see, and I fault not one of you for it, is that is precisely why you are my Chosen People, and I am your God. You are all highly intelligent, rational individuals…" Exodus said.

"You'll see how rational these claws are the second I get down!" Wolverine shouted. Facing the wrong direction.

"… Surely you must know you face impossible odds against me. Yet here you are. Prepared to fight to the death against an entity you cannot defeat. And you are willing to do so because to the X-Men, _every_ life is important. That is why you are my Chosen People," Exodus said.

"You acknowledge the inherent value of all life yet plot mass genocide. I would hope you appreciate the hypocrisy in such a stance," Storm said.

"The man appreciates nothing as sacred. That I assure you," Peter said.

"If we were to sit and discuss this issue as friends, Peter Rasputin, with the stakes no higher than being right or wrong in a debate, I am certain you would agree with me. It is my methods you disapprove of.

And I so deeply admire and applaud you for doing so. What you fail to understand about me, what you can never understand about me is that I do agree with you.

Every life is precious," Exodus said.

"Um, sorry, precious is when you don't threaten to wipe out all life, kay?" Kitty said.

"For you, yes. It is your curse, as X-Men, to fight for a cause that has no end to it. Peaceful coexistence, in the world you have inherited, will never happen. You all know it. I know it. The world knows it," Exodus said.

Storm didn't flinch.

Kitty clenched her fists.

Peter blinked.

"You are cursed to fight and sacrifice for short term wins and long term losses. For the same cycle of conflicts will repeat over and over until time infinite.

I, and only I, have come to terms with that. That is why, despite your perfectly reasonable protests, I am indeed your God.

And so that becomes my curse.

The onus is on me to gift you, my Chosen People, a world worth living in. A world where you can win. A clean slate. One where the X-Men's teachings of peaceful coexistence are the foundation. And not that mutants are genetic freaks. Or women are inferior. Or blacks are slaves. Or any other historical stereotype and prejudice that humanity defaults to in times of hardship and confusion. Humanity should in those times default to the wisdom of Charles Xavier and the X-Men. What a world that would be.

It falls to me to usher in this world. You and I have different moralities. As mortals, your morality is to protect every life. My morality... My morality as a god is different. It transcends what you know as right and wrong. My morality is to create a proper world for you to be stewards of. Right is to succeed in doing so. Wrong is to lose my nerve and balk at the mass genocide I, and I alone must do. But as the old God had the conviction to destroy Babel and flood the Earth and all its creatures, so too must I," Exodus said.

"By the goddess… it truly is a flood he intends," Storm mumbled to herself.

"So yes, I am perfectly aware, Katherine Pryde and Ororo Monroe, that you will never accept me as your God. I know you have journeyed far to find my shrine, no doubt from speaking with the Black Knight or Magneto, and you have come here to stop me. Any means necessary. And I would not have it any other way," Exodus said.

"Black Knight…? That Avengers dude?" Kitty said.

"Your presence here validates my faith in you. Like any god in the history of mankind, I am destined to be damned and questioned by my own people. You are free to attack me. I will not endanger you. But be warned you cannot stop me," Exodus said.

Peter turned to Storm. Her almond shaped eyes grew cloudy.

"In another life, Exodus, you might have been a great X-Man," Storm raised her arms over her head, "Lightning! Deliver him to such a world!"

She grimaced. Trembled in pain. The velvet skin on her face wrinkled and cracked. Tiny, hairline lacerations whisked across her cheeks.

Surges of lightning crawled up her body, slithering from her toes to her fingernails. With a grunt, her body spat out the summoned electricity at Exodus.

Storm instantly collapsed from the ordeal. Her thunderous bolt of lightning sizzled toward Exodus. He caught the blast in his waiting hands like a pass.

"I give you no more than you can bear," Exodus said.

He shaped the electric energy into a ball. Smiled. And released.

Frayed chains of electricity struck down Kitty and Peter.

"AAAAAAAAHHHH!" Kitty screamed.

"URRRGGH!" Peter groaned.

They dropped face first.

"What happened?! Storm! Pete! Kitty!" Wolverine shouted.

Exodus teleported in front of Wolverine and hovered, face to face, with the last remaining X-Man.

Wolverine's eyes swelled.

"Little madman…" Exodus folded his arms.

"Talk it up while ya can, bub. I'm a patient man," Wolverine said.

"…Good. Then let us talk," Exodus said.

"Seems like the only thing yer good for these days," Wolverine said.

"You do not believe in me, little madman. And you never will. Is that fair to say?" Exodus said.

Wolverine spat in Exodus' face. Right on the bridge of the nose.

"Answer enough for ya?" Wolverine said.

"Perhaps. The others… they believe in me. They will never say it. Or admit it to themselves. But they do. You are the most perceptive of your group. You sense it. Is that fair to say?" Exodus said.

"There a point ya' gettin' at? All this jabberin' ain't gonna make you no kinda saint," Wolverine said.

They paused.

Exodus smiled.

Wolverine sighed.

"… Wanna know somethin', bub? I spent a lifetime cursin' God for what happened ta me. A flamin' lifetime. I don't tell Crawler that, but he knows. They all do. They see it in these old eyes. Hear it in my voice. Half my life I don't remember. Other half I don't wanna remember.

Know the funniest part, bub? All that time I was pissin' an' hollerin' an' moanin', I was cursin' God for not being more like you. See, I wanted a God that was active. That was there. That put his foot down, no matter what side a' right or wrong I was on, and acted. Did somethin'. Gave it all a reason. Good or bad.

I don' a lotta terrible things in my day, and I don't mind bein' punished fer 'em. But it tore me up somethin' fierce when innocent frails like Silver Fox got somethin' they had no business gettin'. And monsters like Creed keep gettin' those olive branches. Chance after flamin' chance.

Things like that… those things make a man wanna cuss the lord. And I did. Ain't proud of it. But I did.

When I was a lesser man, you're the type a god I wanted. Type I woulda believed in. Yeah, I woulda praised ya' big time. When I was a weaker man. But I ain't that man no more.

My name's John Logan, bub. And I ain't got time for takin' easy ways out," Wolverine said.

"And I only wish to give humanity's future the same opportunity to change," Exodus said.

Psychokinetic energy rushed from Exodus' body.

In a flash, Kitty, Kurt, Peter, Ororo, and Logan materialized in the Mansion's War Room. Wolverine dropped from midair like an anvil, crashing through the war table.

The professor snapped back in his chair at the sudden appearance of his students. Jean, Scott, Lucas, Emma, and Hank sat beside the Professor and leapt from their chairs to check on the Gold Team.

"Good lord!" Charles said.

"Logan!" Jean said.

"Get them to the infirmary!" Scott said.

"You heard the man, Henry," Emma said.


	18. Chapter 18

**Mansion**

Hank glared at Emma out the corner of his eye. His lip curled.

She was joking of course. Hank knew it. Self-deprecation was his way of diffusing tension. Smug jabs were Emma's warped way of showing affection.

Everyone had their blend of humor. Everyone was different, and that was ok. After all, acceptance was the whole point of their group.

But a part of Hank just wanted to turn around. Face Emma. And calmly tell her to shut the hell up. In his loudest, most bestial roar.

Please. Thank you.

"… Isn't it always the way, patients wait until after hours to check in." Hank pounced over to the fallen Gold Team.

Maybe it was the sudden adrenaline rush of the Gold Team bursting out of thin air and crashing, quite literally, the War Room meeting between Scott, Jean, Emma, Bishop, the Professor, and himself.

Yeah.

That was probably it. Just nerves. High anxiety.

His friends needed him. Storm seemed pretty shaken up. She writhed on the floor in a cold sweat like she had woken from a fever dream.

Kitty and Peter were deathly silent. Crimson blood coated Kurt's red and black uniform like dry syrup. Wolverine curled in a ball on the floor. His husky, nicotine ravaged lungs wheezing in and out as he waited for his healing factor to rejuvenate him.

They needed him. Or Doctor Mccoy, more precisely. Same difference. They needed his help. More than Hank needed their respect.

Good ole' Hank. He won't complain much. Impossible surgeries? He can handle it. Invent technology that doesn't even exist? Sure, stick him in his lab. Bolt the door. He'll do what we say.

But the brain trust of the team? Oh no. That's the Professor, Scottie, Storm, Emma, Jean, and apparently Lucas too now. Good ole' Hank's just the med and tech guy. A tool they can dust off whenever they need something done. Best part about a tool is that everyone expects it to work and never need a thank you.

With all these telepaths around, surely somebody would know how he felt. Maybe reach out to him.

Nope. Too much to ask.

Hank grimaced and headed for Kitty, Kurt, and Peter while Scott and Bishop helped Storm to her feet.

"… I am… uninjured," Storm said.

"Easy, Windrider," Bishop said.

He and Scott draped Storm's arms over their shoulders.

"We believe you. But let Hank take a look just to be on the safe side," Scott said softly.

Jean slid over to Logan on the floor.

"What've you done to yourself, this time?" Jean pulled Wolverine's mask off.

"… J-Just catchin' my second wind, Red." Logan coughed.

Hank checked Kitty's pulse. His furry digits rested on her carotid artery. And waited….

Waited…

Faint throbs finally coursed against his fingers. They were weak, stilted beats like water pumping through a choked hose.

Peter laid beside her. His weak, measured breaths sounded like a train engine fading in the horizon.

Kurt was no better. Hank palpated Kurt's chest and back for the source of the wound. It was like combing through a haystack of blood until he felt a deep laceration near Kurt's kidney.

"Quickly, Jean, help me transfer them to the infirmary!" Hank said.

"Hold on, everyone!" Jean shut her eyes.

She telekinetically floated Wolverine, Kurt, Kitty, and Peter out of the War Room with Hank leading the way.

Emma folded her arms at the psionic display.

"Too good for stretchers now, are we?" Emma said.

Cyclops turned to Emma. His expression soured faster than week old milk.

"Zip it, Emma. She's not showing off, but it would be nice for you to show up for once and actually contribute," Cyclops said.

"How uncouth…" Emma brushed back her hair, "…Where was all this passion when we were together, dear?"

"You tell me," Cyclops said.

 _You can do better than that, Scottie. Why don't you give her the old, 'the X-Men are my only true passion' spiel? I always liked that one,_ Madelyne Pryor telepathically said.

"You are welcome to bicker on your own time…" Charles hovered between Scott and Emma.

Charles turned to face Storm.

"If you are up to it, Ororo, please debrief us on what happened in the Swiss Alps," Charles said.

"They were defeated. Soundly…" Emma said.

She glanced at Scott.

"… There. I contributed," she said.

"That would be an accurate account unfortunately…" Storm said.

She sighed.

"Professor… It shames me to admit we failed to heed your warning. I can attest Exodus is every bit as omnipotent as you depicted. If not more." Storm rubbed her forehead.

"No reason for shame, Ororo. You and the Gold Team did everything asked of you and more. There will never come a day that I have anything less than pride in my heart for you." Charles smiled.

"You all fought with warrior's spirit. That is all that matters, regardless the outcome," Bishop said.

"Your graciousness is well met, my friends. But I fear good intentions will not suffice to stop such a powerful adversary," Storm said.

"If he is that powerful, the fact that he let you guys live is an encouraging sign," Cyclops said.

"Indeed. He seemed very loquacious when he contacted us here at the Mansion. Which suggests to me an underlying uncertainty in him. He seeks affirmation in his path," Charles said.

"And indecision, even a split second of it, can be the difference between victory and defeat," Bishop said.

"It's a terrible weakness," Scott said to himself.

Emma leaned on Bishop's shoulder, but her eyes perched on Scott.

"Quite an astute observation, Mr. Bishop." Emma said.

"You're touching me again, Frost..." Bishop looked down at the White Queen, "…Don't."

Emma backed off and smirked.

"Your wish is my command, dear," she said.

"I have noticed what you speak of Lucas in Exodus' behavior. I only wish that it were the full story. The man sincerely believes he is subject to a different morality than the rest of us. He applauds our methods and heralds us as the best of mankind. However, he judges himself on what he considers a transcendent moral system," Storm said.

"Say again, Storm?" Scott leaned closer.

"I will try. He admires that we value all human life. He believes humans must care for one another above all else. And in believing that, he contradicts his goal of flooding the Earth and exterminating all life except for the X-Men.

But he no longer considers himself a man. He believes he is a deity. And as a god, he operates under a different plane of morality. His concept of right as a god is to create a world for us, the X-Men, to be stewards of," Storm said.

"I see. In his eyes, mass murder is a human crime. But so long as he stays true to his divine sense of right and wrong, he is perfectly justified in genocide," Charles said.

"And I suppose if good is for him to create that world for us, then anything short of that would be evil," Bishop said.

"Almost verbatim his words," Storm said.

"To be fair, who among us hasn't felt that way at some point in time?" Emma said.

She gazed, one by one, at Scott, Charles, and Bishop.

"… It wounds me to say such a thing… but we have no alternative... We must use the Inner Circle's nanomachines to suppress Exodus' powers. It is our only hope of victory," Storm said.

"Victory, huh?" Scott ran his fingers through his striking red hair, "Taking a mutant's powers away is a victory for us these days."

"I mourn that those words would ever have had to come from my lips. I objected most fervently at first. But Scott, there is no other way," Storm said.

"I know, I know… It's a lot like what we did to Dark Phoenix with the neuro scrambler," Scott said.

"We did it then as we do it now. For the good of humanity," Storm said.

"It's simple logic. We cannot fight for peaceful coexistence between man and mutants if there are no humans and mutants left," Emma said.

"I didn't like it then. And I don't like it now. But if we don't have any other choice, then… we don't have any other choice." Scott sighed.

 _Don't pretend that doesn't make you feel good, Scottie. You love convincing yourself you don't have a choice,_ Madelyne telepathically said.

"None of us like it, Scott. But unfortunately, our opinions are moot. As Emma stated, our mission dwarfs our methods. We cannot afford to fail," Charles said.

He hovered closer to Scott. The man more of a son to him than his child. Scott's head sagged.

Charles rested his hand on Scott's shoulder and looked at his boy.

"I speak from experience. I live with the guilt of Onslaught every day of my life, and will so until my exit from this world. But… had I to do it again… Were I forced to stop Magnus or risk him killing more lives, then I would do it again. Without question.

I do not delude myself in what we do or who we are. Nor do I hide behind our chosen ethics as a shield. I have never purported to be perfect. Because we are not. We are outlaws. We are outcasts…" Charles said.

He lifted his pupil's head and looked him in the eyes.

"… But we are X-Men. Exodus assumes he knows us. Understands our teachings. But he only knows us from the outside in. Peaceful coexistence between man and mutant is a part of our teachings, yes. But they are not the core.

Our foundation, everything I believe in and fight for is built on one very simple tenet. To make the world a little better each day. That's all any of us can ever do, really. We are not here to strive for perfection or convince others that we are," Charles said.

He looked at Cyclops. Leader of the Red Team. Six foot plus. Muscles chiseled out of an anatomy textbook. A father. Husband.

But no matter how much time passed Charles still only saw little Scott Summers. The shy boy he welcomed into his home with open arms all those years ago. To see the great man he had grown into…

Charles couldn't help but smile. A tear formed in his eye.

"And, son… I think _we've_ done alright," Charles said with a twinkle in his eye.

Scott smiled.

"More than you know, sir," Scott said.

He put his arms around the Professor. It wasn't major Christopher Summers. But it was his dad.


	19. Chapter 19

**Mansion: Infirmary**

Storm's reflection stared back in the window. Cold as the bitter rain outside. The harsh sleet pounded the glass. Wet streaks slid down Ororo's reflection.

Her index finger twitched. Ready to dry her eye on reflex. She almost forgot she wasn't crying.

She hadn't shed a tear.

Not yet.

Westchester was slowly turning into the Swiss Alps. Ice rain spread like an infection across the wounded Earth. A sickness growing. Evolving from showers and downpours to hurricanes and monsoons.

Ororo didn't need a weatherman to tell her. No. Even with her elemental powers suppressed by Exodus, she sensed the planet's suffering. Its piercing wails were deafening. The wind moaned. The trees howled.

But she couldn't close her ears or turn away. They were the shrill cries of a newborn reaching out for its mother. And all Storm could do, all any mother could do, was listen.

"Blackjack!" Kitty beamed.

Storm didn't flinch.

She could see Kitty, Kurt, and Peter's distorted reflections in the window. The three bandaged X-Men sat around Kitty's bed and played cards. Two days had passed since Exodus dumped Storm and her teammates back into the War Room. Wolverine licked his wounds for a few hours then went on his way. God only knew where he was now or what he was up to. Clearly Kitty, Kurt, and Peter were on the mend as well.

Bless Kitten. So full of life and wonderment. She'd always be a child. At heart, at least. Where it mattered most. Ororo never quite knew if it was courage or ignorance that made her Kitten able to smile in such dire times.

Maybe it didn't matter. Maybe being able to smile, no matter the reason, was good enough.

Storm, on the other hand, grew up fast. She had to. She was an adult as a child. She provided for herself. Protected herself.

As a teen, she was a goddess.

And as a woman, as an X-Man, she was a legend. A fabled warrior who battled the Phoenix and En Sabah Nur, venturing like Odysseus across the globe and the known universe. And back.

Not much room to be a kid. Or even just plain old Ororo Monroe. Whoever that was.

Storm sighed. Her soft exhale muffled by Kitty's laugh.

It was alright.

Ororo could handle it.

She was blessed with a family that loved her and a direction in life to believe in… But what about the others? Felt like the whole world was littered with poor little ones forced to grow up too fast.

So many children born without parents or funds or any hope at all. Being called names they don't even know the meaning to.

A cruel inheritance to be born into this world as an adult. All because of past mistakes. Past mistakes of generations long gone. Generations immune to the repercussions of their sins. Mothers and fathers abandoning their babies. Neglecting them. Raising them with their old, hate-filled values of who to love and who not to.

For every mutant the X-Men reached like Storm, a hundred more went unheard. Lost and forgotten.

Storm blinked.

Maybe Exodus _should_ just wash it all away. Cover the Earth in clean, pure water and start over. Do it right this time.

Storm rubbed her face.

Madness.

She was tired. Weary.

"Blackjack!" Kitty hollered. Again.

"Ack, Fraulein, at least give us the courtesy to look at our cards before you douse our spirits," Kurt said.

"Da," Peter said, resisting the urge to crumple his two cards.

"Sorry, boys, but Lady Luck's wearing the Star of David tonight!" Kitty said.

"Luck being ze key word." Kurt cut the deck with his feet.

"Blackjack is a game of skill…" Kurt dealt two cards to Kitty, Peter, and himself. One face down. One up. "…It is an art to read ze faces and unspoken language of your opponents. To manipulate someone without telepathy, just cunning and wit..."

Kurt reached for his cards and grinned.

"…Ze game is often won or lost before you even need look at your…" Kurt said.

"Blackjack!" Kitty shouted.

Kurt jumped out his seat.

"At least I actually saw my cards this round." Peter tapped his fingers.

"Ha! You're missing all the fun, Storm! Come watch me take these chumps to the cleaners!" Kitty said.

"I am no one's chump, Katya," Peter said.

"Oh, really?" Kitty smirked and pointed at her cards, "Cus that's not what Mr. King and Mr. Ace said!"

"Two men I no longer trust." Kurt counted the deck.

Kitty subtly petted Lockheed next to her bed. Covers draped over him and a stack of Aces between his teeth.

"Enjoy your game, Kitten. I am… elsewhere," Storm said.

Peter stood up.

"I will follow. Now is not a time for games. We should be out with Bishop and Elizabeth aiding in the relief effort," Peter said.

Kitty folded her arms.

"Wouldn't be saying that if I'd let you win one," Kitty mumbled.

"That is not what I meant, Baby Brother. It was reckless for them to go out. We will need the full strength of all the X-Men if we are to have a hope of defeating Exodus. Should even one of them get injured before then, it would jeopardize our chances," Storm said.

"I understand what you say. And I do not wish to vex you, Sister. But…" Peter said.

"But all life is precious. And we are obligated to do everything in our power to minimize the damage of the flood to save as many lives as possible. Yes, we both understand each other quite well," Storm said.

Peter joined her at the windowsill. He gazed outside at the swirling winds and boot-high puddles. He leaned his elbow against the window and rubbed the back of his head.

"… We are not going anywhere, are we?" Peter sighed.

"Eight inches of rain in New York already they say. With as much as ten-twenty inches in some parts of the country," Kurt said.

"Yesterday it was two inches," Kitty said.

"And tomorrow will be sixty-four," Storm said.

"Ze seventh day," Kurt said.

"Lenin's ghost… why didn't we stop Exodus in the Swiss Alps?" Peter made a fist.

"Your English, Mein Freund. Why _couldn't_ we stop him," Kurt said.

"I know exactly what I said." Peter stared off into his reflection.

"We were defeated for the same reason we must now stay here and coalesce fully. Our arrogance was our undoing," Storm said.

"C'mon, Storm, that's not it. We're X-Men, we couldn't be humbler if we tried!" Kitty said.

"Much like hate, Kitten, pride comes in many forms," Storm said.

"I would drink to zat," Kurt said.

"We engaged Exodus, without plan, and assumed we would simply overpower him as we have in the past. He is different. But we acted the same. We cannot afford to repeat such an error in judgment," Storm said.

She took a deep breath.

"I sympathize with your cabin fever. It crushes me… more so than words could ever express… to wait here, helpless, when so many are in dire need of us. Thousands are drowning. Trapped. Suffering. Without power. Without rescue…" Storm said.

She shook her head slightly.

"… But we cannot help _everyone_ …" Storm's voice broke. "… We must stay focused on our next battle with Exodus and be at one hundred percent."

"Heaven help us…" Kurt said.

He approached Ororo and massaged her shoulder.

"… If that is what is asked of us to bear, zen bear it we shall. Together," Kurt said.

Kitty lovingly punched Kurt's arm.

"All's I know is I'm sticking with this train to the very last stop." Kitty forced a smile.

"And then beyond." Peter kissed Kitty's forehead.

The four X-Men gathered around the window. A transparent portrait of charcoal black skies.

They stood in silence. Their restless heartbeats smothered by the blitz of rain clacking against glass.

"… Last day on Earth, huh?" Kitty said.

"Ja…" Kurt squeezed his friends tighter, "… and it's a beautiful one."

He smiled.


	20. Chapter 20

**Mansion Garage**

Gambit flicked his cigarette butt.

The garage was musty and damp. Damn hurricane. Felt like a moldy bathtub. Even with all of these people's fancy Shi'ar technology, still couldn't get decent insulation in a storm.

Remy slipped his hand into his trench coat. Pockets were so deep it was like someone pushed his hand out a window.

He sifted through the clutter and grabbed his keys.

Just had to get away…

All those fake hair weather men, they saying don't go out. Anything you do, don't go out in Hurricane Steven. Board your windows. Say them prayers. Stock up on canned foods and water. Cause anyone caught out in the rain must have a death wish.

Remy grinned.

Must have.

His grin soon faded. He ran his palm against his stubble. The prickly hairs tickled his skin.

Everyone preparing for doomsday. Like they got a say in the discussion. Storm, Kurt, and the wonder twins cooped up in the infirmary. Hank, Scott, Bobby, and Warren out on the town having one last boys' night. Bishop, Jubes, and Betsy out trying to play superhero. Professor pacing around, wracking his brains trying to figure out how to stop Exodus. Emma and Rogue at that kid's funeral thing…

If this was going to be the end, then, one last time, Remy wanted to feel the wind comb through his hair and ride like the devil into the night. Tomorrow he had to play X-Man. But tonight. Tonight he was off.

Remy did a double take of the garage.

Monsieur Logan's eyesore Jeep?

Check.

Scott's convertible?

Naturally.

Monsieur Bete's Hybrid?

Unfortunately.

Wine red 1991 Harley Softail?

"Mon Dieu!" Gambit shrieked.

He raced over to his usual parking spot. The far left corner. Never had to worry about someone taking his spot. Cause no one wanted it. Except for today apparently. But who?

Sinister?

Belle?

Creed?

Spat and Gravel?

Which one had the gall, which one had cold enough blood to steal a man's bike.

A lone, white sheet of paper was taped on the concrete in place of his motorcycle.

Remy snatched it off the ground. There was a car key taped to the underside of the paper.

" _Hi Remy!_

 _Let's play a game! You want your bike? Catch me and it's yours!_

\- _Your friend, Jean_

 _P._ _S. Your first clue is in my Volvo!"_

"Volvo?!" Gambit crumpled the note, "Gambit do not drive Volvo!"

He marched over to Jean's rusty, 80's beige Volvo with the dented bumper. Piece of garbage looked like Daddy gave it to her, and she never had the heart to dump it. Or she was just torturing him. Both most likely.

Gambit crept closer to the driver's door. His head angled away from the vehicle as if the car was contagious. He opened the door and sat down. Inside a Volvo. Master thief. Renowned X-Man.

In a Volvo.

World comin' to an end an' now dis," Gambit said.

A second note sat on the passenger's side.

"Club Gossip."

Gambit cocked an eyebrow.

"What dis girl know 'bout Club Gossip?" Gambit reclined the driver's seat and twisted the ignition.

The engine rattled to a start. Sounded like empty spray cans under the hood.

Remy put it in drive and headed for the garage door.

"Next Christmas I get Cyclops a bigger leash," Gambit said.

He pulled out of the garage. Sleet and rain hit the windshield like an open hand slap.

Jean's Volvo chugged along the winding road out of the estate grounds toward Graymalkin Lane.

"Gambit walk faster den dis…" Gambit said.

He cruised through the deserted Westchester streets. Or at least he assumed they were. There was so much condensation on the windshield that he could barely make out traffic lights. Last time Gambit went thirty-five mph he was on a horse.

"… Blob walk faster den dis," Gambit said.

Of all the things he could be doing right now and here he was, on a wild goose chase for Jean, of all people. Typical. These people. Always getting in his business. Would it kill them to just leave him alone?

Gambit glanced at his rearview mirror. Don't even know why he did. The rear defogger was working about as well as Xavier's Rogaine. All Remy could make out, clear as day, was his face. His shifty eyes stealing a peek.

Sure. He was an X-Man. Whatever that meant. He'd die for these people. And their various causes.

But, this whole thing about being palsy-walsy, buddy-buddy Kumbaya nonsense... It wasn't Remy. Couldn't they just leave him out of it?

Now'd be a good time for a smoke.

He tried not to be too hard on the X-Men. Their consciences were guilty. He could see it. He felt it. Remy and the rest of the X-Men knew the score. It's just that only Remy was willing to admit it.

He didn't belong. Not really.

They needed extra muscle for all the suicide missions they'd go on, and he was like a mercenary. He'd been part of a few different outfits in his time, and as far as hit squads went, a body could do worse than the X-Men.

He could live with that. But them? They never, in all the time he'd been with the X-Men, came to terms with that. They always wanted to believe they were family or something. Friends.

That wasn't the case. From Cyclops to Jean to the Professor, they knew old Remy Lebeau wasn't no X-Man. He was just hired help. But to help themselves sleep better at night, they gotta go and pretend like they're all some big family.

They are.

Remy wasn't.

So now here goes Jean, wasting his time. Again. Trying to be funny or something. Could be his last day on this miserable rock, and he's gotta spend it chasing after something that's already his.

He drifted toward downtown Westchester. Club Gossip was only half a mile away. He could faintly make out the neon purple sign through the storm.

A red blur sped in front of Gambit and cut him off. He slammed the brakes. The Volvo skidded side to side until it screeched to a halt.

Gambit rolled down the window. Manually.

A red motorcycle stopped at the curb in front of him.

A wine-red motorcycle.

With a redheaded cyclist.

"Hey! You made it!" Jean revved the engine, "I hope you're better at racing than directions! I thought I'd be out here all night!"

Her motorcycle roared and shot across the street.

"Wait!" Gambit yelled.

He pounded his fist on the steering wheel.

"When dis girl gon' learn…" Gambit shook his head.

He shifted into drive and floored the accelerator.

The tires sloshed through the wet streets. Slowly gaining speed. He gunned the motor harder. Angrier. Until the engine squealed.

The Volvo jetted after Jean in the distance. Any normal car he'd be over a hundred mph. Easily.

This?

Gambit had to slam the pedal to top out at sixty-five.

Didn't matter. Jean had his bike. But Gambit had his skill. A lifetime of high speed chases and escapes. Only race Jean'd ever been in was to see who could be in bed by eight first.

The Volvo cut through puddle after puddle. Columns of water splashed beside the car, higher than the windows.

Jean made a sharp left. A perfect, ninety degree turn. At over a hundred mph. In a rainstorm. Yeah. These people never abused their powers.

Gambit pumped the brakes and spun the wheel to the left. The slick treads squeaked. The rickety car tilted on its right side and almost catapulted Gambit out his seat.

Its airborne left tires slammed back down to the pavement. Gambit jostled in his chair.

"Oui, Chere…" Gambit said.

He clamped the steering wheel. Both hands. Ten and two. Like he was strangling someone.

And grinned.

"… Ain't nobody beat Remy Lebeau," he said.

The Volvo bolted after Jean down a narrow one-way street. His windshield wipers were working overtime. The wet, wobbly tires wanted to spin out and slam into the cars parked on both sides. Gambit steadied the wheel. His fingers ached. The steering wheel imprinted into his palms.

But Jean? No, Jeff Gordon zipped right through like it was nothing.

Hard to tell if her wheels were even on the ground. Girl could be using her powers to just float the damn thing. He'd honestly prefer if she was cheating. Be a relief.

If there was even one scratch on his bike when all this was done…

He could make out a little more of Jean with every second. She went from a red blur to a ganglion of red hair fluttering in the wind. It was like tracking a beautiful mare galloping in the night. Its flowing mane its only face.

Gambit was closing in on her. They reached an intersection. Jean split northeast.

Gambit drifted behind her and left two streaks on the road. He was gaining on her. He could almost smell her excitement.

Good girl like her? He knew the type. In every Ms. Grey there was a Phoenix. And any girl that said otherwise was lying.

All made sense now. World coming to an end? Girl that like wants to be bad. Feel some excitement. A little rush from being on the other side. People did crazy things when they were afraid.

Well if she wanted to play, Gambit knew the game.

He smirked.

A sharp beam of light burst in the side of Remy's face. A semi-truck charged from the right into the intersection. Its frantic horn was like a doomsday whistle.

Gambit's smirk melted off his face. He slammed the brakes.

The semi ran through the intersection inches from Gambit's bumper. But not before rolling down his window.

"Tryin' ta kill me! Red means stop, ya jerk!" the truck driver snarled and sped off.

"Merci, mon ami," Gambit said.

He deflated in his chair.

"Always knew dese people gon' get me killed." Gambit ran his fingers through his silky red hair.

If she wanted some cheap thrill before the end, then fine.

Good for her.

She could use her powers to control the bike.

What didn't make sense was why Jean would let him endanger himself? And everyone on the road around him.

She knew the roads were a mess, and her Volvo was a nightmare to handle. Gambit could've killed lord knows how many people just now playing her silly housewife game.

That wasn't like her.

But then, who was she anyway?

Gambit sighed. He eased his foot off the brake onto the accelerator.

He spent so much time focused on how much the X-Men knew him. And what they knew.

Did he even know them?

Gambit crossed the intersection.

No sign of her. He should at least be able to follow the rumble of his bike's engine.

Nothing.

City was dead. Already. The apocalypse wasn't for another day.

Gambit continued straight. She wasn't trying to lose him. She wouldn't turn twice so fast. She wants him to catch her. She wants to play.

Whole windshield was blanketed in fog and moisture. Gambit rolled down his window and stuck his head out.

All he could make out was the flashing movie theater sign…

And a wine-red motorcycle parked in front.

Gambit parked beside the bike. His bike. And stepped out the Volvo into the pouring rain.

He popped his collar. But it didn't mean much. His sopping hair smacked his face.

He brushed the dark red strands from his eyes and scanned every inch of the bike.

No scratches. Good.

Felt weird seeing his bike this way. Something so dear to him, so personal. And now it's just on display. Like his life was on trial, and it was evidence. Jurors painting a picture of your life like you ain't been living it all this time.

He approached the theater. The automated doors slid open.

He stepped inside. Not a person in sight. No patrons. No employees. Place was definitely closed. Or supposed to be.

But the lights were on. He could hear the subwoofer bass coming from one of the theaters. At least one movie was playing.

Gambit followed the thumping vibration in his soaked trench coat. He was like a melted ice cream cone dripping all over the floor. His soggy boots crunched the magenta carpet.

The bass grew louder. Sweeping, orchestral violins and horns boomed from the last theater down the hall.

Gambit glanced at the sign on the door.

"Beauty and the Beast in 3D."

Gambit shook his head.

These people…

He inhaled. A deep, eyes-shut, inhale. Like he was getting ready to wade through sewage.

And pushed the door open.

The panoramic screen popped with vibrant colors. Remy blinked repeatedly as if an eyelash was in his eye.

The symphonic sounds bounced off the walls, but the theater itself was deathly quiet. Not a soul insight.

Save for one redhead in the backrow. Beaming ear to ear. Her doe-eyes transfixed on Belle and the Prince's every movement.

Strange people, telepaths.

Gambit plodded up the stairs to the backrow. He stomped his slushy shoes louder and louder with each step. He didn't waste an hour chasing her, getting drenched, and almost dying in four, maybe five, car crashes just for this girl not to acknowledge him. No. He was going to make sure she knew he was coming.

But despite every thudding step, she never turned from the movie. Not for a second.

Remy had been late to the party called the X-Men. All the Original Five, and whatnot, Gambit missed it. And frankly, he never felt he missed much. All he knew about Jean Grey was that she was the cosmic Phoenix. She was Scott's wife. A scholar.

It was easy to forget that once upon a time she had to have been a little girl.

And for the first time, there, in the theater, for the first time he saw her as a child. Even if it was only for the ninety minutes of the film.

Gambit exhaled and took a seat next to Jean.

"I love this movie," Jean whispered.

The world could be coming to an end. Hell. The world was coming to an end and nothing would be able to pry her from that movie. She hung on every word, every image, with a gaping smile of innocent joy.

"Oh! This is my favorite scene!" Jean said.

The Prince and Belle entered the ballroom and danced.

Jean was almost in tears on the edge of her seat. She clasped her hands.

Movies were Nightcrawler's thing. Remy never had that much use for them. He loved sports. Competition. High stakes. Something to win and something to lose. He loved the thrill of victory. And, to be honest, a part of him loved the agony of defeat too. Maybe just as much. If not more.

Gambit slouched in his chair.

"If you wanted to race, all you had to do was ask," he said.

"We both know you would've said no and laughed at me," Jean said.

Gambit leaned closer.

"We both know girl like you don' take no for an answer," Gambit said.

He frowned.

"… Chere, why we here?" Gambit said.

She glanced at him out the corner of her eye, then darted her eyes back to the screen.

"… I always wanted to see this in 3-D! Isn't it amazing?" Jean said.

"No, Chere…" Gambit looked in her eyes, "… Why are _we_ here?"

Jean sighed into a defeated, deflated smile. Like she won a silver medal or runner's up prize.

"… This didn't turn out as magical as I thought it would," she said.

"Dis ain't like you, Jean. What's really goin' on?" Gambit said.

Jean twirled a lock of her hair.

"Well, that's just it, I suppose…" Jean rested her hands on her thighs, "… I'm just tired of things being the way they've always been… Exodus and Bishop are right, you know."

Gambit cocked an eyebrow.

"I didn't believe it at first, but it hit me when we were fighting the Morlocks. And that poor man, Rio Vaughn… he was a Morlock. On the inside. No matter what the Inner Circle did to his face and body, he was still the same man. But his friends… the look in Sunder's eyes... the hate. How could the people that love you turn on you like _that_?" Jean snapped her fingers.

It was like a church bell.

"They probably weren't really friends to begin with. The more I think about it, the more I agree with Bishop. We have to be more proactive. We have to do more. And it starts here. With us. Because the way we're doing things, I mean, I admit it, Exodus is right, the way things are going we'll never change the world. Not if we cannot change ourselves. Our intentions are good, God bless us, our intentions are good, but the reality is that we lock ourselves away in our own problems and don't really reach out to help anyone. We put out fires, but we don't build bridges," Jean said.

She started to laugh. It was a pained, heartbroken laugh.

"Scott and I have spent so many years building our psychic rapport that I… I never realized that by doing so, we were also shutting out the rest of the world. Instead of reaching out and connecting with everyone else, we were perfectly content in our own little world.

How can we make a difference in the world if we can't make a difference in each other's lives?" Jean stared back at Remy.

"Don' beat yourself up, petite. Don' do nobody no good," Remy said.

"Remy…" Jean looked away, "… Do you consider us friends? Real friends?"

Teammates?

Of course.

A body couldn't ask for a better one.

But friends?

He loved Rogue. With all his black heart. But he wasn't even sure if he and Rogue were friends. Let alone Jean.

"'Course, Chere," Gambit said.

Jean smirked.

"Should know better than to lie to a telepath," she said.

"And you should know better than ta steal from a t'ief." Gambit grinned.

"Fair enough," Jean chuckled.

She put her hand on Remy's.

"Look, I was hoping to do something, I don't know… fun, to break the ice between us. And I think we can agree it hasn't worked out that great," Jean said.

"No, Ma'am," Gambit said.

"But, hey, I just wanted you to know… I can't speak for everyone else or the 'X-Men.' I'm only speaking for me now. You'll _always_ have a friend. No matter what you've done or ever do. I'm _not_ Sunder. I'm _always_ going to be there for you. And, and I'm sorry I haven't made a better effort to get to know you these past few years," Jean said.

"No worries, Chere," Gambit said.

'Always.'

What a word.

Ain't nothing 'always' in this world.

Belle said she'd always love him. Rogue too. One trip to Antarctica later and he's persona non-grata. Not that he didn't have it coming. He wasn't afraid to admit that. He deserved her distrust. It was her love he didn't deserve. Why they always gotta build him up just to tear him down?

And here goes Jean down that same damn road. Don't they know who Remy Lebeau is? How many times did he have to disappoint them for them to get the damn message? He was no good.

Always was.

What would Jean say if he told her the truth? The truth she didn't know. The truth none of them knew.

Huh? What then?

What would she say if he told her that the Morlock Massacre wasn't Sinister's original mission for him? Huh? What then with all this friendship forever nonsense. Please.

What if Ms. Summers knew that Sinister originally commissioned Gambit to infiltrate the X-Men as a mole? A spy?

Yeah, Gambit knew about these people long before he joined their ranks. Sinister had a whole dossier on them. Scouting report on every member. Past and current. All Gambit had to do was charm these people, get in their ranks, and play stoolie for Sinister.

Only thing that changed Gambit's mind was time. Wasn't his heart. Wasn't his sense of honor. It was the simple fact that Remy knew if he took that mission, he'd be under Sinister's thumb indefinitely. Three months in an undercover mission like that could easily turn to six months, which could easily turn into a year, and another, and another, and next thing Remy knew he'd be working for Sinister forever.

He wanted out.

So he refused.

Sinister said alright. I've got another last job for you. Lead the Marauders into the Morlock tunnels.

Remy didn't know how bad it would be, but he knew it wouldn't be nice. He knew he'd be doing something worse than spy on the X-Men. But it was shorter. It was a one-shot deal. Do the damn thing and be done with Sinister.

And Remy made his choice.

What would Jean think of that? Is that the man she'd always call friend?

Or better yet. How about years later with Belle down in New Orleans. He and Rogue settled business with the Thieves and Assassins, but the whole ordeal left Belle a blank slate. She came out her coma, thank God, but without her memories.

Not long after, Sinister approached Remy again. And again, he offered Remy the old deal. Spy on the X-Men, he said, spy on them for me and I'll give Belladonna her memories back.

Would Jean still take Remy to the movies if she knew he stayed up every night for a month thinking about whether to take Sinister up on his offer? What would she think of her friend then? Huh?

Gambit ultimately passed on Sinister's offer. But if it was the same situation, except it was Rogue instead of Belle.

Gambit would have said yes.

He glanced back at Jean.

He sighed.

She meant well. She always did.

"Here." she smiled and stood up.

She handed him his motorcycle key. He hadn't even noticed it was missing from his keyring.

"I've wasted enough of your night. Enjoy your joyride." She walked down the steps.

Remy looked at the motorcycle key. No tricks. No games. Just his key.

"Jean…" Remy called out.

She turned around.

"Look, all dis… Gambit understand. I do. But, Chere… it's too _late_ for me…" he said with a gleam in his eye.

"… Gambit don' need friends… But, for dat lonely kid in New Orleans twenty years ago, ta know somebody cared... ta know he had a friend… It'd mean da _world_ ta him." Remy smiled.

"And 'sides. Movie ain't finished yet, mon ami." Gambit patted the seat next to him.

Jean chuckled and sat back down.


	21. Chapter 21

**Landover, Maryland. Mark Ferguson Wake**

Anna wiggled through the crowd toward the refreshment table. Bottle of water would be good. Jack Daniels, better.

Everyone crammed into the Ferguson's living room like pencils in a jar. Was hot enough in her black dress and tights. The clammy body heat from a hundred mourners covered Anna in an oily film.

Felt like being back in the South. The deep, deep South. In the dog days of August.

Anna bobbed and weaved through a field of shoulders and elbows until she reached the refreshments. Mourners whispered amongst themselves, talking into their glasses and chests. Yet the room was still so very loud. An echo chamber of blame, with a little grief tossed in.

Anna twirled a lock of her auburn hair. Its white streak stuck out among the sea of black hair like a star in the night sky.

What was she doing here?

She didn't know any of these people. She wasn't even on that damn mission.

Anna grabbed a bottle of water and removed the cap.

Betsy, Hank, Bobby, Warren… especially Warren… they promised Ms. Ferguson they would be here. Warren took it the hardest. If anyone was going to be here, it would be him. But with this whole Exodus end of the world thing, everyone canceled at the last minute. Well. Almost everyone.

 _Glass of Pink Moscato, dear,_ Emma telepathically said from across the room.

Anna made eye contact with Emma and nodded.

Weird to see Emma in all black. And weirder not to see Emma's cleavage. It usually hung out more than kids afterschool. But there she was, White Queen Emma Frost, in a subdued black suit pants and blazer ensemble.

Sometimes Anna just wanted to smack Emma upside her head. Especially when she demanded a glass of wine. They're at a funeral, and Emma's acting like Anna's her butler. Like she expects everyone to wait on her, hand and knee.

Like everyone owes her.

Anna grimaced.

She reached for an empty glass.

No matter how much time passed, whenever Anna thought ill of anyone, including Emma, Logan's gnarled face would pop in her head.

That face look Logan had the first day she wandered onto the Xavier estate, desperate, pleading for their help. That image was burned in her mind.

She was so young then. Barely knew her ass from her elbow. She knew the X-Men would be suspicious of her intentions. Hostile even.

And largely, they proved her right. Storm and the Professor welcomed Anna into their home, their family, at arm's length. But they welcomed her, nonetheless.

Wolverine?

No sir.

It was his eyes. Eyes she would never forget. Scared her to death when she was on that tiny island of a chair. Wolverine seemed ten feet tall, and she shrunk about ten inches.

The pain in his face was a language all its own. It said 'who the hell are you, kid? Who the hell are you to think, after all you've done, that you're owed our help? That you're owed anything?'

What Anna did to poor Ms. Marvel, Anna could never forgive herself for that.

But somehow, the X-Men did.

And if Wolverine could forgive her for what she did to his friend, then Anna could be patient with anyone. Even Emma.

Anna poured the Pink Moscato. An elderly woman bumped Anna's elbow just as she began. Wine splashed onto the table.

The elderly woman didn't stop or even acknowledge Anna. She barely reached Anna's shoulder. Barely.

"'Scuse me, Ah'm sorry, sugah. Let me get that." Anna turned.

She smiled at the elderly woman and checked her clothes for any stains. She had to be in her seventies. Maybe eighties. She was wrinkled like an old prune, but had a shifty, hawkish stare. Like she'd seen everything twice, and didn't like any of it the first time.

The woman wore a black Sunday dress and veil with a reptilian tail dragging behind her. She glared at Anna. Her eyes ran up and down Anna like an escalator.

"I don't know you," the woman scoffed.

Anna's genuine smile scrunched into a nervous one.

"… Uh, Ms. Ferguson invited us," Anna said.

"Who's we?" the woman snapped.

Her voice was like a buzz saw.

"… Me an' mah friend ovah there… " Ana pointed at Emma, "… Can ah pour you somethin'?"

The woman snorted.

"My daughter don't have any human friends," she said.

Anna let out an uncomfortable laugh.

"We're not human… ah mean, she and I, we're both mutants," Anna stammered.

"You don't look mutant," Grandma Ferguson said.

"Sorry, what's a mutant look like?" Anna said.

"Mom!" Ms. Ferguson said.

She grabbed Grandma Ferguson by the shoulders. Ms. Ferguson was a much taller woman, but had the same tail as her mother. Mascara and eyeliner were freshly applied. No smudges. No streaks.

Poor thing. She hadn't cried yet.

Anna knew the feeling, or lack of feeling, too well.

Antarctica.

When she turned her back on Remy…

Hours went by. Days. Weeks. She hardly shed a tear. Between the hurt and hate, there wasn't much room for tears.

But it was more than that.

The second she cried. Really cried and let it all out, then it became real. Long as she didn't cry, Remy wasn't truly gone. He was just… not there. He'd not been there countless times. He'd hop on his bike and go off on some wild adventure and return days later.

But if she cried, if she allowed herself to cry then it meant he was gone and never coming back.

"Why don't you go talk to Uncle Ron, Mom?" Ms. Ferguson said.

"He's dead," Grandma Ferguson said.

"No, Mom. He's right over there. See?" Ms. Ferguson pointed.

"I ain't blind. When he sees me, he's dead." Grandma Ferguson plowed through the crowd.

Ms. Ferguson touched Anna's arm.

"Oh my goodness, let me apologize for my mother. She's ready to fight the whole world," Ms. Ferguson said.

"Mah, money'd be on her," Anna said.

"… Thanks for understanding." Ms. Ferguson smiled.

Don't worry y'self, sugah. Ah can't even begin to imagine what ya'll must be goin' through… Ah am so very, very sorry for your loss," Ana said.

Ms. Ferguson sighed.

"… It's ok. Thank you. I hope I don't get this wrong, but you are Ro-…" Ms. Ferguson said.

"Anna. Mah name's Anna." Anna said.

"Amy." Ms. Ferguson shook her hand, "I love your accent. Carolinas?"

"Mississippi," Anna said.

"Really? My family's from South Carolina. We moved here when I was about twelve. I guess I lost my accent," Ms. Ferguson said.

"You're lucky. Ah've been in New York for God knows how long, and ah still can't seem to shake this dern accent o' mine," Anna said.

Ms. Ferguson laughed.

"Hahaha, God, I needed that. Thank you so much for coming. I know with the weather and all… it means a lot to me," Ms. Ferguson said.

"It's been rainin' cats and dogs and God knows what else out there," Anna said.

"Past few days have been like the end of the world. Feels that way, at least…" Ms. Ferguson sighed.

There was an awkward pause. Anna stared at her glass.

"… Ah'm sorry we didn't do more for your son," Anna said.

"Please, don't beat yourself up over it, Anna. You weren't even there," Ms. Ferguson said.

"Ah know. And ah'm sorry," Anna said.

Ms. Ferguson poured herself a glass of wine.

"You know, they say there's no pain on Earth like losing a child. But, please don't hate me for saying this, I… I feel like I lost him long before this. I lost him to, I don't know, to this, this culture. You know what I mean?

All his life, I told him, pick your hill to die on. Pick your hill to die on. Everything doesn't always have to be the end of the world. Everything isn't a personal attack.

Somewhere along the lines everyone started thinking that standing up for yourself meant getting offended by every single thing. Life is full of little disappointments and frustrations. Every day. Every damn day. But we pick ourselves up, smile, and do the best we can. That's how my Dad raised me.

But Mark… my baby… he never had an identity outside of, I'm a mutant! If a girl didn't like him, she was a bigot. If he didn't get a job, they were bigots…

It's not his fault though. I failed him, you know? I failed him."

She wiped a tear from her eye.

"It's ok, it's ok," Anna put her arm around her.

Ms. Ferguson sniffled.

"It's not… I _failed_ my baby boy," she said.

"Ah mean _this_ is ok." Anna gently held Ms. Ferguson's hand away from her eye.

A tear rolled down her cheek.

"Let it out." Anna hugged Ms. Ferguson.

An old quote always stuck with Anna. 'Better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all.'

Sometimes it made her smile.

Sometimes, cry.

She was so sick and tired of being sick and tired. All the lonely nights spent searching. Lost in tears. Years floated by down that stream.

Maybe it was good to be Rogue. A blessing. She didn't have any children and, chances were, she never would.

That also meant that she would never have to _lose_ a child. God, that had to be a fate worse than death. It was a pain that Anna couldn't possibly imagine.

The hurt and denial in Ms. Ferguson's bloodshot eyes… Maybe Anna truly was blessed. To never know, to never completely know that level of hurt…

Maybe she was blessed.

Maybe she was just fooling herself. Maybe just one day, one second holding a baby, _her_ baby in _her_ arms, its soft skin against hers, was worth a lifetime of pain. And more.

The front door creaked open. A tense silence filled the Ferguson house. It was like someone hit the mute button.

Leon Dicolla entered. Owner of the Italian restaurant where Mark was gunned down by the police. He looked every bit as sweaty and pasty as he did on the news.

The mourners' eyes were torches. Their teeth, pitchforks.

Ms. Ferguson broke her hug from Anna.

"What in tarnations is he doin' here?" Anna said.

"… I invited him," Ms. Ferguson said.

"Ah'm sure ya'll have your reasons, but ah gotta say none of them seem clear ta me right now," Anna said.

"I've known Leon over twenty years," Ms. Ferguson said.

"Ain' that somethin'," Anna said.

"He used to live down the street. He would come by and check up on me when I was pregnant. Make sure I was ok," Ms. Ferguson said.

"Ah… ah had no idea," Anna said.

"I know he's a good man," Ms. Ferguson said.

"But tha police themselves said he refused to let Mark in…" Anna said.

"He _is_ a good man." Tears welled in Ms. Ferguson's eyes.

"It's ok, sugah," Anna rubbed her back.

"I can't." Ms. Ferguson pulled away.

She dried her tears before they could leak and smiled at Anna. It was a chapped-lip, heartbreaking little whimper of a smile.

"… I… I'm not ready yet," Ms. Ferguson said.

She composed herself, straightened the creases in her dress and applied some lipstick.

Anna softly smiled into an exhale.

"Ah understand," Anna said.

Ms. Ferguson slipped through the deathly still crowd of family, friends, and attorneys toward Leon and embraced him like an old friend.

The mumbles of the mourners were like muddy boots trampling Anna's ear.

"The nerve…"

"Supposed to be a holy occasion…"

"Let anyone in here…"

"Should be in jail…"

"Should be shot. I don't care who hears me…"

"That's the problem. The mother's always the problem…"

"Look at them…"

"Sinners…"

"Should be ashamed…"

Mr. Dicolla's eyes had more bags than a checkout aisle. Guy looked like he hadn't slept for days. All the time they were galivanting around Manhattan fighting the Morlocks, Mr. Dicolla was probably tossing and turning in his bed, dancing to the orchestra of protestors calling for his head.

Or maybe he was just a smart businessman paying respect to save his business. Everybody seemed to hate mutants, but nobody wanted to be labeled a mutant hater. Especially not a family restaurant.

Guess no one liked labels.

Anna poured two glasses.

The X-men had prevented the world from coming to an end so many times… but…

Anna knifed through the mourners toward Emma by the rear window.

… What happened when _one_ person's world came to an end?

Anna's reflection in each glass swayed back and forth with every step. Distorted. Changing.

What did the X-men do then? What good were the X-Men when one person's world came to an end? Ms. Ferguson seemed like such a sweet lady.

How does someone pick up the pieces after something like that?

Anna spent, no, wasted so much time wondering what holding hands would feel like again. How her powers had kept from so much of life. Never dawned on her how much her powers had shielded her from.

And it only made it that more depressing.

Anna sighed.

She handed a glass to Emma.

"Stem, dear." Emma glanced at Anna.

"Huh?" Anna took a gulp of her wine.

"Emma rolled her eyes.

"The stem, dear. The proper way is to hold a glass by the stem before you hand it to someone. Or, in your case, inhale it," Emma said.

"Thanks, ah'll remember that." Rogue palmed the bottom of the glass and chugged.

"Charming," Emma said.

She took a swig and pursed her lips like she sucked a lemon.

"Ugh!" Emma shuddered.

"What's wrong now?" Anna said.

"It's ghastly. Please tell me you don't think this swill is acceptable," Emma said.

"Of all tha things runnin' in mah head, sugah, that ain't one of 'em," Anna said.

She gazed into her glass.

"Penny for your thoughts, dear," Emma said.

Anna snapped back to attention. Jarring to hear Emma ask something, what was the word, empathetic.

"Heh…" Anna chuckled, "… Ya'lls the telepath. You tell me."

"Fair enough," Emma turned back to the window and gazed outside.

Anna scratched the back of her head and frowned.

"Look… Emma, can ah ask somethin'? No sarcasm?" Anna said.

Emma kept her back to Rogue.

"If you must," Emma said.

Anna took a step closer.

"Why're you here?" Anna said.

Emma peeked at Rogue over her shoulder.

"Ah mean, c'mon, let's face it. Ya'll aren't the most people lovin' X-Man. Ah'm sure you'd be the first ta admit that," Ana said.

"And your point, dear?" Emma said.

"We both know this might be our last day on Earth. Tomorrow… who knows what'll happen with Exodus. All the others, Warren even, decided they had other things to do on their last day," Anna said.

"So why didn't I cancel?" Emma said.

"Well… yeah. Ah guess that's what ah'm askin'," Anna said.

"What makes you certain this is our last day on Earth? The X-Men have gone against impossible odds before and come out perfectly fine. What makes you think this will be any different?" Emma said.

"Ah don't know. Ah wish ah did. Really. Ah think ah'd feel better about this whole dern mess if, ah don't know, if Exodus was doin' all this because, ah know this sounds crazy, but if he was doin' it because he hates us. Or he hated mutants. Or humans. Or somebody. Whatevah. When ah think of all the times we've survived against all odds, ah know it was because we believed we had ta win. The X-men had to stop Dark Phoenix. We had to stop the Maurauders, an' Sinister, an' Apocalypse, and Magneto an' Mastermold, an everyone else. We had to," Anna said.

She twirled her glass by the stem.

"An ah feel like Exodus feels that same way. Ah don't think he'll stop because he doesn't just _want_ ta win. He feels like he _has_ ta win. Ah hope that makes sense," Anna said.

"It does. In your own, precious, roundabout Southern way," Emma said.

She faced Rogue and looked away slightly.

"… I heard you tell Ms. Ferguson your name was Anna, Rogue," Emma said.

"Ya'll heard us from way over here?" Anna said.

"Telepathy, dear. I hear everything," Emma said.

"Now there's a comfortin' thought," Anna said.

"… I was just wondering, when did you start introducing yourself as Anna?" Emma said.

"Ta be honest, ah think ah just started right then and there. Genuinely, at least. Sometimes ah say it as an alias," Anna said.

Emma took a deep breath.

"… You ever get… tired of being who you are?" Emma said.

"What do ya mean?" Anna said.

"… There's a wise quote I always liked," Emma said.

"Ah love inspirational quotes," Anna said.

Emma smiled.

"You would. Anyway, it goes something like this. I do a lot of things I wouldn't do," Emma said.

Anna blinked.

"Er… one more time, sugah," Anna said.

Emma folded her arms.

"I do a lot of things I wouldn't do," Emma said.

"A wise man said that? Sounds like somethin' Logan would say ta get outta doin' tha dishes," Anna said.

Emma's face boiled.

"Fine. It'll make more sense if you hear the whole thing," Emma said.

She inhaled.

"I do a lot of things Walt Disney wouldn't do. For example, Walt Disney doesn't smoke. But I do," Emma blurted out in one breath.

Anna almost did a spit take.

"… Walt Disney said that? Mickey Mouse Walt Disney?" Anna said.

"Quite profound isn't it?" Emma said.

"Emma Frost just quoted Walt Disney? Heh. If'n there was any doubt tha world was comin' ta an end tomorrow, this confirms it," Anna said, holding back laughter.

"Walt Disney was an industrial pioneer and entrepreneurial visionary. When I was much younger, I would take notes on business success from men like him, J. D. Rockefeller, Henry Ford. And if you repeat any of this to anyone you will spend the rest of your days a drooling mental vegetable," Emma said.

"Not a problem, sugah. Wouldn't want anyone thinkin' yer human or anythin'," Anna said.

"Thank you," Emma said.

"… Ah think ah see what you mean, more ah think about it. Ah do things Walt Disney wouldn't do…" Anna said.

"Are you Rogue? Or are you Anna?" Emma said.

"Some days ah feel like neithah," Anna said.

"We're not all that different, you and I… save for the obvious gulf in style, breeding, and annunciation. Bloody Jean loves Scott and it's the most sacred union in the history of mutant kind for generations to come. Storm and Black Panther get married, and it's the most extravagant celebration in a thousand years," Emma said.

She bit her lip.

"You and I fall in love? Oh, we don't know what we're doing. We're looking for trouble. We're either naïve or conniving.

I've never thought much of Gambit. But you don't choose who you fall in love with. Your feelings are your own, Anna. But when it's over, the only sympathy you get is an earful of whispers. I told you so's. Of, ok, it's time to move on and forget it ever happened…" Emma said.

Her eyes fluttered.

"…You ever _see_ the way Scott looks at me? Like I don't exist. Like I never did. Anna… I _loved_ that man. I _did._ I loved him every bit Jean does. And more so than Storm ever loved Black Panther for that cup of coffee they called a marriage. It's not fair…" Emma said.

"Emma, ah… ah didn't know you felt that way," Anna said.

"You want to know why I'm here? When everyone else was too afraid to show their faces here and admit that we messed up? That we didn't save that child? Because I've been here before.

My heart goes out to Ms. Ferguson more than you can imagine. When my Hellions died… it just hurts so much to even think of a child in pain," Emma said.

"S'funny, this whole time ah've been mopin', goin' back and forth whether ah was lucky or cursed not to know how Ms. Ferguson must feel," Anna said.

"It's a curse if you truly don't know. Because no matter how much it hurts, if this is my last day then there is no place else I'd rather be than here," Emma said.

She looked in Rogue's eyes.

"But it's not a curse for you. Because you know exactly how she feels. The Hellions weren't mine. But they were _mine._ They didn't have to be my children for me to love them. I would never admit it, and I know she wouldn't want to hear it, but if anything happened to Jubilee… I requested she be put on the Blue Team. She needs discipline only Bishop can give her, but I also want to be there to look out for her. You don't spend so much time with someone like we did after the Phalanx invasion without the little buggers growing on you," Emma said.

She sipped her wine.

"That's life ah guess. Formin' bonds without even realizin'," Anna said.

"That is life," Emma said.

Anna raised her glass. Emma gently clinked their glasses together.

"Ah reckon as far as wakes go, ah feel pretty good about this one." Anna smiled.

"We've certainly been to enough of these to be experts," Emma said.

Anna chuckled.

"Ah like ta think things maybe happen fer a reason. Ah'd be lyin' if'n ah said ah had as noble a reason for comin' as you," Anna said.

She shrugged.

"Ah honestly only came 'cause ah wanted an excuse ta avoid Remy today. Part of me always said if there was one person ah'd wanna see before ah died, it'd be that ol' swamp rat," Anna said.

She put her glass down.

"But ah know he ain't nevah gonna change. Ah love him. Yer right about that. Ah love him more'n he loves himself. Which is the problem. If'n he can't love and respect himself, he ain't nevah gonna love an' respect anyone else. An' ah know that's nevah gonna change. And neither is Rogue. But hey, Anna…" Rogue smiled.

"She still has a shot," Emma said.


	22. Chapter 22

**Harry's Hideaway; Salem Center, Westchester**

Scott struck the cue ball. It broke the rack. Each ball scattered. Frayed to the four corners of the pool table.

He aimed his pool stick like an English rifleman. The three-ball dead in his sights. Scott's rhythmic breaths scored the empty diner. It was karaoke night and his nostrils were performing for an audience of zero.

Business was struggling. Even before the world was coming to an end. Danger pub used to be packed with college kids. Scott used to have to swim through caffeine pills and cheat sheets just to reach the bar.

Now?

Couldn't pay college kids to come. Not even the new pool table made a difference. Bar and grills were the big thing these days. With the mind-numbing bass and flat screens on every table. There was one across the street. Even in this apocalyptic rainstorm, there was a line stretched around the block of scantily-clad coeds waiting to get in.

Harry's had been here, right here, through so many good and bad times. The X-Men grew up with Harry's. Scott certainly did.

He cracked his knuckles.

And it was kind of like, a part of Scott wanted… needed to help. Times were rough for Harry's.

Scott loved the place. And the best friend of any business was word of mouth. He was one of their oldest and best customers. It was his responsibility to recommend Harry's. All this time he could've been bringing them new customers.

Scott grimaced.

It was his fault Harry's wasn't doing better.

No.

He knew he wasn't to blame. He didn't own the place. He didn't even work here. He didn't have any control over their finances or business.

Didn't make him feel any better. Actually made it a little worse. He just…

He should have done more.

"Three-ball. Corner pocket," Scott mumbled.

He fired his pool stick. The cue ball cracked the three-ball, launching it at a forty-five-degree angle until it popped into the corner pocket. The clack of the three-ball rattling in the corner pocket echoed.

It was too quiet.

Almost felt like cheating. Or shooting an unarmed man. Half the challenge was doing the damn thing, but the _real_ challenge was concentrating amid his friends heckles and jeers. Any idiot could make these shots with enough repetition.

The true accomplishment, the art was being able to block out all the distractions and still succeed. Then sit back and quietly stick it to everyone who thought they could get in his head.

That's what Scott cared about. That's what made winning, winning.

Wasn't the same without Bobby or Remy or Kurt or Logan or Hank or Rogue or Emma or Jean or Kitty or Jubilee talking trash…

Scott half smiled.

Sure were a lot of trash talkers on the team these days.

The Professor and Magneto tried to kill each other on numerous occasions, and even they never said half the things his friends said.

Scott chalked his pool stick. He chalked it until the tip looked like the bottom of an eraser.

The Professor said he consulted Magneto about Exodus. It was only a few days ago, but it felt like a lifetime ago.

At the time, Scott hated the idea. He hated the Professor taking such a risk. Not only confronting Magneto, which could easily escalate into a battle, but sharing Exodus' plan with him.

The last thing the X-Men needed was Magneto involved. Sympathizing with his pupil and possibly joining him. It would take all the X-Men, at full strength, with a plan, to even have a chance. Just a chance against Exodus.

And then the Professor risks adding Magneto to that equation? Maybe the Acolytes too?

Scott rested his pool stick on the edge of the table.

But that was a few days ago. When the end of the world was an abstract idea. A philosophical possibility. Words. Harmless words.

Today?

Right now?

Right now most of the Pacific and Midwest was flooded. Arid countries that barely saw rain were being buried by hurricanes and monsoons.

Bishop, Jubilee, and Betsy were out placing band aids on broken arms.

Waste of band aids.

But if Bishop was going to be leader of the Blue Team, then he had to learn for himself. As leader, he's going to have to make hard decisions based on numbers and reason. Not people and passion.

He'll find out the hard way. Like everyone does. Eventually.

The reality of it all changed everything. It was one thing to think about Exodus wiping out the population. It's another to see videos of families stranded on their roofs in New Orleans. Paris. Guam. Babies floating, face down, like carp.

Scott shut his eyes.

He felt so very helpless… he didn't know who to be angrier at.

Exodus?

Or himself?

Didn't matter. On the seventh day, Exodus would return. And they had to be ready to stop him. They couldn't afford to be scattered across the globe playing Red Cross.

All they could do now was wait.

A fate worse than death.

Scott let out a laugh.

The Professor realized it before anyone else. He could've gone to Amelia. She knew Exodus. She could've briefed the X-Men on the extent of his powers.

The Professor _needed_ to talk to Magneto.

Scott had no clue what they talked about or for how long. But whatever the Professor said, he needed to say it before time was up, and the game of life ended.

Scott leaned his elbows on the edge of the table. What was taking Bobby and Warren so long?

Was it so wrong for him to be here?

Scott unfolded a piece of paper from his back pocket.

It was a hand-written list of names. He had been up all night jotting down the names of the people he wanted to see on his last day on Earth. People he wanted to know that he loved them. That he wanted to make peace. That he wanted to say thank you.

Jean. Dad. Cable. Alex. The Professor. Rachel. Jean's parent's grave. Emma. Maddie… Stryfe. Even Vulcan.

But the more he thought about what he would say… the more overwhelmed he felt.

Twenty-four hours.

Twenty-four lousy hours.

No time at all.

Scott looked away. The three-ball sat in its pocket. The rest were strewn about the table. Separated. Isolated.

He knew what he wanted to say. It was as simple as thank you, or I love you, or I'm sorry. But how would he actually say it? How could he? There was so much hurt and pain between him and most people on the list. Trying to heal those wounds would only reopen them. He just… he just couldn't deal with all that now.

He would be like Bishop. Hopping around the globe trying to fix everything. The reality was that he couldn't reach everyone, everywhere, even if he tried.

Did it make him a bad person to want to spend what might be his last day on Earth with his oldest friends? In a place that was comfortable? That genuinely made him feel happy? Feel safe?

After all the battles and sacrifices, wasn't he entitled to at least that?

Scott delicately folded the paper and tucked it back into his pocket.

Best thing he could do for all of them was stop Exodus. At this point in his life, maybe that was the only thing Scott could do for them.

"… I'm sorry," he mumbled.

He took off his ruby quartz aviators and rubbed his eyes.

"… I know you're there. I know you're listening, Maddie," Scott said.

He leaned his elbows against the table.

"I know what you're thinking. You're in my head all the time, but I'm the one who knows what you're thinking. After everything I've done to you… everything we've been through… words can't make things right. They just can't. No matter how much I wish they could.

Why bother say anything at all then? I walked out on you… but as the years have gone by, I know it's more than that. If it was just that, you could move on. You were a strong woman once, Maddie. I know you would have picked up your life and moved on. I wouldn't ask you to forgive me, but I know you would've been able to move on.

But you couldn't. You still can't. And I understand. I don't blame you. I don't. Because I know what hurts the most, more than me walking out… is that… is that I was never really there to begin with. Not fully.

Time and time again you've had to cope with the fact that your life has been built on lies. From Sinister. From me. Day one, I was never completely there for you. I see that now. Day one… When you have to hear, over and over, that what you believed so strongly in was a lie… I'm sorry, Maddie. I'll never ask you to forgive me. I'm not even asking you to understand me. I… I just want you to know that I understand _you_ ," Scott said.

A sudden draft hit Scott's back. His skin quivered.

"… Please… say something. I need to know you heard me. Please… I know you're there! I know you can hear me! I can feel you watching me! Answer me!" Scott said.

"Er… was that to me, or the man upstairs," Warren said.

"Warren!?" Scott spun around, "… I didn't hear you come in…"

"Apparently." Warren smirked.

His bulky, beige overcoat was soaked.

"… I was just…" Scott said.

"No need to explain. Trust me. We've all had _that_ conversation," Warren said.

Scott let a laugh escape.

"Where's Bobby?" Scott said.

Warren shrugged his shoulders.

"… He said he had some stuff that came up last minute. Probably with his folks I imagine," Warren said.

"At least he was specific," Scott said.

"How about Hank? Blue boy in the powder room?" Warren said.

Scott scratched the back of his head.

Warren deflated.

"Don't tell me. Some important science stuff came up last minute, right?" Warren said.

"He couldn't make it. He said he had to go over some things in his lab and it'd take all night," Scott said.

Warren nervously straightened his coat.

"Well, if there's one thing you can count on with the O5, it's that at any given time, half of them will be somewhere else," Warren said.

"Tell me about it," Scott said.

"So… I guess… it's just you and me then." Warren surveyed the lifeless bar.

"Looks that way," Scott said.

"Yep." Warren exhaled.

"Yep. Cyclops and Angel," Scott said.

"Scott and Warren," Warren said.

"Just like the old days," Scott said.

"Mmhm," Warren muttered.

Scott wiped his aviators on his shirt to look busy. At this pace, they didn't have to worry about the world coming to an end tomorrow. Death by boredom was a much more probable cause.

"… Hey, you know I bet Jean would love something like this. Can you call her and see if she can come? She's O5 after all." Warren perked up.

Scott shook his head.

"She's out with Gambit," Scott said.

Warren's head turned.

"Uh…" Warren said.

"Don't ask," Scott said.

"… Good for him… lucky bastard," Warren mumbled.

"So… we could go to the bar, have a few drinks, or play a game of pool… It's up to you," Scott stammered.

"Sounds good," Warren said.

"… The drinks or pool?" Scott said.

"I'll get the drinks while you rack 'em up," Warren said.

"That's a plan," Scott said.

Warren headed to the bar. The bartender was glued to the lone flat screen. Weather channel. Wonderful. Only place to see smiling faces before doomsday.

Scott corralled all the balls into the triangle.

He sighed.

How in hell was he going to survive an entire night alone with Warren?

It's not like he hated Warren or anything. They were teammates. Brothers. Friends… But Warren felt it too. He had to. They just never had much chemistry together. Nothing wrong with that. Perfectly normal. It was rarer to find people Scott genuinely connected with than the reverse.

His relationship with Warren wasn't an aberration. It was the norm.

They always had a great time in group settings. When Hank and Bobby were there, everything flowed. It was easy to forget how hard it was to relax.

Scott positioned the eight-ball in the center of the rack.

He and Warren were so different. Warren was a privileged rich boy. Scott grew up in an orphanage. Warren was a blond Adonis. Scott was a cyclops.

Scott lifted the triangle off the rack.

Maybe the problem was they were too similar. He and Warren were so moody. They would brood and stew over relationships and their powers until Hank and Bobby would jump in and diffuse the tension with good natured humor.

Scott smiled to himself.

Never realized how powerful Bobby really was. He and Hank had that gift to stare down the darkest, tensest moments of doubt and despair. Look them right in the eye and laugh.

Laugh.

And poof! Everything would be fine.

Everything would be fine…

God, how long had it been since he could say that?

Everything _seemed_ back to normal. In the past six months, after all the hell the X-Men had been through, the pieces of their lives seemed to fall back into place.

Then why did nothing _feel_ fine?

"Here we are." Warren set two glasses on the edge of the pool table, "Two Rasputins."

Scott glanced at his glass.

"White Russians?" Scott said.

"Drake already told you that one?" Warren said.

"Hank. And he said Bobby got it from him." Scott picked up his glass.

"Well we both know what that means." Warren raised his glass.

Scott nodded.

"They both stole it from Wolverine," Scott said.

Scott and Warren laughed.

"Who probably stole it from Nick Fury or Abraham Lincoln knowing that guy," Warren said.

"That sounds about right," Scott said.

"To the X-Men. Thieves and outlaws since day one!" Warren said.

"I'll drink to that," Scott said.

They toasted their glasses.

Scott took a sip.

His face went flush. Felt like gasoline down the back of his throat.

"… Has a… little bite to it." Scott gasped.

"I know, I asked for the end of the world mix." Warren grinned.

"End of the world, or my liver?" Scott took another sip.

He scrunched his mouth like it was sour milk.

Warren chugged his glass and wiped his lip.

"Ah! Now we can play some pool. You break, Slim, and I'll get us some more refreshments," Warren said.

Scott aimed his pool stick and broke.

Warren wasn't a big drinker. But he did love escapism. Scott wasn't too concerned. World was coming to an end. A few drinks for Warren couldn't be that different from spreading his wings and flying away from his troubles.

Must be a neat power to have. To soar above the clouds. When he wanted to. Scott had flown with Jean. And it was great. For what it was.

But it felt weird being flown as opposed to flying. Jean handled everything, and it was hard to get comfortable knowing he wasn't in control. She decided how high. How fast. When. Where. Being in a limo had its appeal, but Scott enjoyed cruising in his convertible as far, and as long, as he liked.

"The Armageddon special," Warren said.

He set down a tray of half a dozen mugs and glasses with a bottle of Vodka on the edge of the pool table.

"We really know how to set an example for mutantkind." Scott gulped down half of his glass.

Warren grabbed a mug.

"I think we've _helped_ enough already," Warren said.

He held the mug to his lips.

"Can I ask you something, Warren?" Scott said.

"I got the tab. Don't worry." Warren picked up a pool stick.

"No… Emma and Rogue went to the funeral in Maryland. I just wanted to know… why didn't you go with them?" Scott said.

"… Am I stripes or solids?" Warren scanned the table.

"… Stripes," Scott said.

Warren leaned over the table and aimed for the striped six-ball.

"Why didn't _you_ go?" Warren struck the cue ball.

It smacked into the six-ball and launched it into the corner pocket.

Scott moved toward the table.

"Don't forget to call your shot," Scott said.

"Oh, yeah. Been awhile," Warren said.

"No worries," Scott said.

He walked to the side of the table.

"Two-ball, side pocket," Scott said.

He placed his pool stick behind the cue ball.

"I wasn't on that mission," Scott said.

"Neither were Emma or Rogue," Warren said.

Scott fired his shot and sunk the two-ball in the side pocket.

"Pretty decent shot," Warren said.

"Coming from you, that's a huge compliment," Scott said.

Warren chuckled.

"That's probably true," Warren said.

He took a swallow from his mug.

"Why didn't you go, Scott?" Warren said.

Scott drank from his glass.

"You know you really shouldn't answer a question with a question," Scott said.

Warren chalked his pool stick and gently pressed against the edge of the table.

"Three-ball, side pocket," he said.

He fired a shot. The cue ball grazed the three-ball, spinning it like a top.

"… We're not cut out for those big emotional gatherings. That's not us. We keep to ourselves. Shy away from crowds. We've always been that way," Warren said.

"You might be right," Scott said.

He sipped his drink.

"Do you remember way back when we first formed X-Factor? The very beginning?" Scott said.

"Don't remind me. Now there was a cluster if ever there was one." Warren rolled his eyes.

Scott leaned against the edge of the table with his drink in hand.

"It wasn't all bad. Some good things came out of it," Scott said.

Warren leaned beside him.

"Yeah, who could forget the X-Terminators. Another million dollar Worthington idea. Mutants who pretend to be humans who hunt mutants to really save mutants. How much was I drinking then?" Warren said.

Scott laughed.

"What I remember, what I'll never forget, is that when we first started X-Factor, you had such a passion for it. It was infectious. You really believed in it," Scott said.

"Sheesh, rub it in, why don't you?" Warren said.

"That's… that's something I've always…" Scott cleared his throat, "… admired about you. We're different people, Warren. Your problem, I think, is that you care too much. But that's not a bad thing. We should all be so lucky."

Warren looked in his mug.

Scott set his down.

"I'm organized. I'm disciplined. I make things work. Because I have to. If there's no order, then it's all chaos to me. And if it's all chaos, then what's the point? What's the reason to do any of this? But you, you have something inside you. A fire that pushes you to follow your heart and beliefs when every rational thought says otherwise.

I know how much Mark's death affected you. We all do. And I know you're beating yourself up for not saving him. And I know you're beating yourself up even more for _letting_ it bother you so much," Scott said.

"Jean read my mind?" Warren said.

Scott smiled.

"Don't forget who you're talking to. I'm an authority on beating yourself up," Scott said.

Warren laughed.

"I thought Hank had the copyright on self-deprecating humor," Warren said.

"He probably does," Scott said.

Warren laughed. Harder this time. He put his mug down.

"Your turn. Can I ask you something, Scott?" Warren said.

"Can I answer with a question?" Scott said.

"A little vodka and the guy thinks he's Bob Saget," Warren said.

Scott laughed.

"Seriously though… you said before you admired that about me. How I follow my heart and beliefs… even when everything else says otherwise. We've both been here since day one. I want to know, this is just between us. I don't even know how to ask this… Are you… Do you still believe in Xavier's dream?" Warren said.

"No question," Scott said quickly.

Warren half smiled.

"Alright then… One more…" Warren said.

He stared at the ceiling fan, slowly going in a circle. Over and Over.

"Do you think we'll ever win? I mean, do you think the dream will ever come true?" Warren said.

"Every day we fight is a victory in itself," Scott said.

"C'mon, Summers. I'm buzzed and it's the end of the world. I'll get to talk to Cyclops when we face Exodus tomorrow. Right now I want to talk to Scott. He here?" Warren said.

Scott wiped his aviators.

"You want the honest to God truth? The truth is I can't just spread my wings and be free. I have to wear these damn things…" Scott tapped his shades, "… Truth is… truth is I think about what Exodus said. And I think about the world he described. A future built on the Professor's dream. Where peaceful coexistence is the foundation from day one. I think about what the people would be like. What the world would be like in a hundred years. A thousand years.

Then I think about what I know the future will be like. My son, _my_ son is the future. The _real_ future. Cold. Unforgiving. Where the world is in ruin because of bigotry and war. A world where everything we're fighting for now has been long forgotten.

And I think, which is a better future? Not tomorrow or a week from now. A thousand years from now. A perfect utopia, or annihilation?

And my son has to inherit one of the two.

If it's my choice? If it were up to me… I honestly don't know. I don't know. If we stop Exodus, we save billions of lives today. But if Exodus succeeds, he will save mankind's future. Because the way we're going, mankind doesn't have a future. Everyone says the future's not written. The future's not written. But my son's proof it is.

We just… do things. We fight this guy. We fight that guy. We save some people. We don't save others. Our lives as X-Men are so… inconsequential. Small. Meaningless," Scott said.

"To who?" Warren said.

"To me," Scott said.

"You don't really believe that," Warren said.

"I don't know what I believe. A part of me wanted nothing more than to spend today with Jean. My wife," Scott said.

"Why didn't you?" Warren said.

"I wanted to. Believe me. I _love_ Jean. But… I think for the first time, she had a sample of how I feel. How my life has been. And it's really shaken her," Scott said.

"Why? What happened?" Warren said.

Scott took a deep breath.

"Might as well tell you. Before you walked in Harry's just now, it was Maddie I was talking to," Scott said.

"Oh, boy…" Warren said.

"We ran into her and the Inner Circle in Manhattan. I don't know how, but she's managed to break my psychic rapport with Jean," Scott said.

"Really?" Warren said.

"Now every time Jean and I try to communicate, Maddie is there in our heads. Watching. Listening," Scott said.

"I've had exes like that too," Warren said.

"You would. The thing about it is that I've had to cope with not being in control before. But I don't think Jean knows how to deal with it. Maddie is there, invading our privacy, and we can't do anything about it. And it's tearing Jean up.

She feels like we've become too dependent on our psychic rapport. She thinks we've gotten too comfortable in our own world and that we aren't doing enough to connect with everyone else who needs us," Scott said.

"Hence her little play-date with Remy," Warren said.

"There you go. It's just her way of avoiding dealing with it," Scott nodded.

Warren smiled.

"I think you don't give Jean enough credit. You and I have both had to deal with Apocalypse's influence, but she's had to cope with the Phoenix controlling her. She knows what it's like," Warren said.

"That's just it. Jean sees the Phoenix as a calling to something greater than herself. But for me… do you have any idea what it's like to know your wife is destined to die and be reborn again and again until the end of time? Whenever the Phoenix is needed, it appropriates Jean to stop a cosmic threat, dies, and raises her from the ashes. Sometimes I try to convince myself it's comforting to know Jean will never truly die… but that's what makes it so cruel.

To never know _when_ she'll be taken from me. Or how _long._

The first time, I was in my early twenties when we lost her. She came back, and I had a wife and child. I was a young man though. A foolish, foolish one, but I was young enough to drop everything for her.

Second time I was in my thirties. She was gone much longer this time before she came back. And when she did, I was with Emma. But I was still young enough to drop everything for her.

It scares me to death wondering when the next time will be? Am I going to be in my forties? Fifties? Will she die and not be resurrected until I'm in my seventies? She'll still be Jean. Look just like she does now, and I'll be in a wheelchair with Alzheimer's, all the shots to the head I've taken over the years. Or worse. Maybe _I'm_ already gone by the time she's resurrected again. Maybe I'll die waiting for her to come back one last time. Because I'll know she's coming back. Just not _when_.

And not knowing _kills_ me. It kills me, Warren," Scott said.

Warren inhaled.

"… I wish I knew what to say. The Professor always knows the right thing to say in these situations. Sometimes… a long time ago, I'd talk to Candy, and she'd ask me, why does Xavier still call you guys students. You're all adults. He's nice and all, but you guys really don't need him anymore.

I would smile and give her a kiss. Half because I agreed with her. Half because I didn't want to agree with her. But the older we get, the more I realize… there's so much I don't know. I don't think that ever really dawned on me until recently. Back then, I didn't even know what I didn't know," Warren said.

"I know what you mean," Scott said.

"But I'll tell you this. When we're all a hundred years old in wheelchairs and colostomy bags, you damn sure better believe we'll all be right behind you, in spandex, still rolling our old blue and gold asses out to save the world. There's your future," Warren smiled.

He and Scott laughed.

"Hahaha, that's comforting," Scott said.

Warren patted his friend on the back.

"Oh, and Scott?" Warren said.

"Yeah?" Scott said.

"It's been twenty minutes. Call your damn shot already," Warren said.

Scott picked back up his pool stick.

"Five-ball, corner pocket." Scott squinted one eye and aimed.


	23. Chapter 23

**Beast's Lab**

Hank pushed away from his desk. The wobbly back wheel of his chair squeaked.

Hank heard it. He heard it every time he sat down, stood up, or leaned forward.

Needed to be changed.

Easiest way would be to toss it and get a new one. The Mansion was littered with designer chairs.

Hank slumped his elbows on the chair's arm rests.

The worn, black leather had a permanent impression of his posterior. It was like snuggling in a mold of his big blue furry behind. How many scientific breakthroughs had he made in this very chair? How many life changing, life-saving inventions had he and Forge designed while Hank was parked in this chair?

The answer?

All of them. This beat up old chair was with him through every one. It had been so reliable that it was easy for Hank to ignore that squeaky back wheel.

Hank pawed his eyes. He rubbed them like cheap erasers.

He'd been staring at his monitor for hours on end. Every time he blinked, bright blue spots flashed in his eyes. He'd already run through about a dozen bottles of Visine. No relief.

Test after test with those infernal nanotech power dampeners. All to reach the same conclusion the Red Team did when they gave them to him.

They dampen mutant powers.

After hours of diagnostic exams, Hank could clinically report they inhibit expression of the X-gene on a nanometric level. But for once, being scientifically accurate didn't console Henry McCoy.

His dark reflection stared back in the blank monitor screen.

Reality was that Betsy was right. If they were going to even have a prayer of stopping Exodus, they would need to use these insufferable nanomachines. Shaw Industries' latest mutant oppressing weapon. Designed for his Private Military Corporations to expedite the neutralization of mutants around the world.

For the highest bidders.

And now they were exactly what the X-Men needed.

Hank winced.

He loathed the word ' _needed.'_

Nothing good ever came from needing to do anything.

He _wanted_ to be happy.

He wanted to be loved.

He wanted to be accepted.

He _needed_ to turn the other cheek.

He _needed_ to grin and bear it when things didn't go his way.

He _needed_ to smile and be agreeable for things to run in the X-Mansion. _All_ the X-Men couldn't be the troubled one. Someone had to be the rock to make sure things got done.

"And rocks…" Hank stood from his chair and glanced down at the wobbly wheel, "… rocks don't squeak, do we, old friend?"

Hank stretched. His achy joints cracked. Felt good to get up. A little exercise would be even better. Chicken soup for the musculoskeletal soul.

He hopped across the empty subbasement toward the Danger Room. Mansion usually bustled with X-Men going every which way. Voices traveling like tourists through every inch of the Mansion.

Tonight?

He could hear the soft rustling of his blue fur with every jump. Scott, Bobby, and Warren went out for a guys' night. They invited him, and he wanted to go… Just not tonight.

Emma and Anna were in Maryland attending the funeral. They invited him, and he wanted to go… Just not tonight.

Bishop, Jubilee, and Betsy were out helping with the relief effort for the flood victims. They invited him, and he wanted to go… Just not tonight.

When he went to check on Kurt, Kitty, Peter, and Ororo in the infirmary, they invited him to stay and play cards with them. He wanted to… Just not tonight.

Hank scratched his head.

He certainly was a popular X-Man. Something to be proud of. People genuinely liked Hank McCoy. They loved him.

Just wasn't sure they respected him. Or at least, that's how it felt sometimes.

Rubbish.

A little sweat was exactly what he needed to clear his head. All this moping wasn't helping anything. Especially not him.

Hank approached the Danger Room. He entered the control center, only to find a program already in session.

Challenge: Iceman.

Hank cocked an eyebrow.

"Robert?" Hank accidentally said next to the PA.

Bobby whipped his head around.

"Hank!?" Bobby said.

A thunderous Sentinel blast blindsided Bobby. The shot slammed his icy body to the ground.

Sentinels surrounded him. The Danger Room shook as they marched closer.

"Robert!" Hank rushed from the control room.

"Ungh… pause program," Bobby said.

The horde of sentinels stopped. A line of metallic red eyes dimmed.

Hank busted into the Danger Room. He rushed over to Bobby, crumpled on the floor.

"A thousand apologies, I didn't realize the microphone was on." Hank helped Bobby to his feet.

"Whatever you say, Marion Barry," Bobby said.

"I assure you, my eyes are only red due to exhaustive research…" Hank smiled.

Bobby chuckled and reverted from his ice form.

"… Correct me if I'm wrong," Hank said, "but I was under the impression you were spending a hallowed, guys' night out with our two O5 cohorts?"

"Funny, I was going to say the same thing. With less syllables," Bobby said.

"Then that would mean…" Hank said.

He and Bobby looked at each other.

"Oh, dear…" Hank broke the silence.

"Heh." Bobby chuckled.

His stilted laughter revved like an engine.

"Dude. You mean to tell me Scott and Warren, the charisma twins, are out on the town? Alone? With each other?" Bobby said.

"May God have mercy on us all," Hank said.

Bobby burst into laughter like milk was coming out his nose. His hearty laugh was infectious. Before Hank knew it, he was laughing so hard he was almost in tears.

"Ah man, I wish I could've gone just to see the looks on their faces when they realized they were stuck with each other!" Bobby said.

"Awkwardness shall most definitely ensue. This is perhaps our greatest crime as X-Men to date," Hank said.

"Haha, I can picture it now! So… Scott… you um… still got those shades? Yup. So… Warren… you… er… still got those wings? Yup," Bobby said.

"Hahaha, and the irony is that they have quite a bit in common when you think about it," Hank said, struggling to catch his breath.

"Both love Jean," Bobby said.

"They both love Jean…" Hank nodded, "… Both were possessed by our dear friend, En Sabah Nur," Hank said.

"Both are always blue," Bobby said.

"Oh, good one. I hadn't even thought of that. And unlike yours truly's azure appearance, the two of them are irresistible to women," Hank said.

His gentle smile belied the subtle shrug of his shoulders.

"Hey, you've had your share, Beastie Boy! Trish ring a bell? Brandt? She was quite the dish if I recall correctly. And I do." Bobby nudged Hank.

"You know what I mean, Robert. Trish was… different. She had to know me to like me. And I won't even tell you what Abby was into. But between Jean, Lee Forrester, Madelyne, Candy, Betsy, Paige, it's been a parade of the most breathtaking beauties for them, and they barely need to utter a word," Hank said.

"There's your problem, Hank, maybe you're just saying too much," Bobby said.

"Possibly. Or not saying enough," Hank said.

"You know, I don't think I've ever asked you this before, Blue Boy," Bobby said.

"And what's that?" Hank said.

"Hottest X-Woman? Past or present," Bobby said.

Hank blushed.

"Robert! They're all like sisters to me. I couldn't possibly…" Hank said.

"Cut the diplomacy, Hank. World's about to end. Some candor would be appreciated," Bobby said.

"Really! I don't look at our teammates that way! It would be uncouth to even picture them… in that… light," Hank stammered.

"Hank? Haaaaaank? You're not talking into the microphone this time. What's said in the Danger Room, stays in the Danger Room," Bobby said.

"You're sure you won't breathe a word of this to anyone?" Hank said.

"Scout's honor!" Bobby saluted.

"Because, Drake, you are aware my mandible can produce enough pounds per square inch to snap a human neck like a desiccated twig." Hank glared at Bobby.

"Sooooooo…" Bobby grinned, "… Who's your top three?"

Hank rolled his eyes.

"… If I absolutely had to give an answer, with the proverbial ice gun to my head… I would say…" Hank said.

"No wait. Let me guess. Jean's number one? Isn't she? Ahhhh, I knew it! It's always Jean!" Bobby said.

"May I finish, Bill O'Reilly?" Hank said.

"Ok, go," Bobby said.

Hank inhaled.

"It is Jean though." Bobby smirked.

Hank shot him a death look.

"… I would have to go with in my top three… I've always thought that, and I don't even know if this person counts, but… I've always thought, you know, Domino, was… fascinating," Hank mumbled.

"Domino? I didn't even know you knew who that was," Bobby said.

"We've crossed paths, here and there," Hank said.

"Domino? Wow. Didn't see that coming. Like. At all," Bobby said.

"I suppose for a lifelong bookworm such as myself, a wild, unpredictable female like Domino is exciting. Intoxicating," Hank said.

"… She's the one with the thing on her eye, right? I always mix up the X-Force and X-Factor names. I know the faces," Bobby said.

"Indeed. That's her. And…" Hank cleared his throat, "… and from the stories Logan has told me… let us just say she is quite… adventurous in the boudoir to say the least."

"Yeech, Wolverine's been with her?" Bobby stuck his tongue out.

"Canada's finest has pretty much been with every walking double X chromosome you can possibly imagine," Hank said.

"No way! Has he been with…" Bobby said.

"You don't want to know." Hank interrupted.

Bobby looked off to the side. The way he would way back when they were taking written exams. Like the answers would magically come to him from out the window.

Bobby opened his lips.

"Really. You don't want to know," Hank repeated.

"Ok, who's number two?" Bobby said.

Number two would have to be… promise you won't laugh," Hank said.

"I promise," Bobby said, "…nothing."

"This may sound absurd, but… I've always had a thing for… heavens, I cannot believe I am saying this… I've always had a thing for… Moira," Hank said.

"Moira!" Bobby blurted out, "… Ha! Wait till I tell Sean! He'll get a kick out of this!"

"Shush it! You will do no such thing, Drake!" Hank yelled.

"Moira of all people! I can't believe it!" Bobby cackled.

"What?! She's a refined, regal, elegant, brilliant older, mature woman. To be honest, I've always secretly fantasized one day I would be in my lab. She would come over, compliment me on my research. Then, slowly, softly, she would stroke my fur. Tug at my strands. Pull my…" Hank said.

"Whoa! I'm good, Hank! We get the idea," Bobby said.

"… And, after her… Jean would be first," Hank muttered.

"Called it!" Bobby said.

"Well I think we can all agree she is a lovely individual, inside and out," Hank said.

Bobby burst out laughing again.

"… I'm sorry, but Moira though? I can't get over that!" Bobby said.

Hank chuckled until he was roaring in laughter with Bobby.

"Ah, God…." Bobby wiped a tear from his eye.

"Hahaha, ah… I certainly needed that…" Hank said.

Their hysterical laughter calmed. Slowly. Gradually. Like a furious tide waning into a silent wave.

"… God, Robert… why are we here?" Hank said.

Bobby glanced at his oldest friend, then looked away.

"What do you mean?" Bobby said.

"We clearly needed the catharsis of laughter with old friends. Why didn't we go with Scott and Warren?" Hank said.

"I don't know…" Bobby said.

He sat down on the empty, Danger Room floor.

"… I… why didn't you go?" Bobby said.

Hank parked next to Bobby.

"I imagine I just needed to clear my head," Hank said.

"Same," Bobby said.

He crossed his legs.

"Hey, Hank… you ever just… stop and think about stuff?" Bobby said.

Bless Bobby. He had that way about him that he could make the most obvious statements and be completely sincere. Maybe it was his boyish face. Even pushing thirty he still looked like the wide-eyed kid he met all those years ago.

"Oh, once or twice." Hank gently smiled.

"I don't know, I guess I just… this whole Blue Team thing has kinda thrown me off my game. Scott and Warren suck socially, but when it comes to being X-Men, they've got everything under control. Me?" Bobby's voice echoed in the empty Danger Room.

"… Heh. I mean… you see it. I know you do. It's tug of war. Bishop and Warren are pulling one way, and Jubilee is pulling the other. A part of me is like yeah, screw the rules. Screw authority. If Bishop wants to play dictator then to hell with him. A part of me wants to make jokes with Jubilee and stick it to the man," Bobby said.

He took a deep breath.

"… But then I think, I mean, I remember, Jubilee's nineteen. I'm almost thirty. Maybe…" Bobby exhaled, "… Maybe it _is_ time I grew up. Maybe Bishop is right. Maybe we need to be more serious. Maybe _I_ need to be more serious. I look at you guys, the O5, and it's like, dude, I was one of them. Warren is a killing machine as Archangel. Cyclops is the second coming of Captain America. Jean is the Phoenix. You have nine billion PHD's. And what have I gone on to do? It's like going to a class reunion every day of your life.

And you're the screw up.

Hey, there's Drake, _still_ the class clown. At thirty. Still can't get the most out of his powers," Bobby said.

He reached his hands out. A beam of ice shot from his fingers tips, taking the shape of a sculpture. An ice sculpture of Bobby Drake.

"… I… I don't know what to do, Hank. Being me has gotten me this far. You know, dance with the one who brought you. But another part of me is screaming, it's time to grow up. It's time to change," Bobby said.

"It would seem this Blue Team roster hasn't done anyone any favors." Hank sighed.

"Hank?" Bobby said.

Hank ran his fingers through his blue mane.

"Well, as you alluded to, I'm one of the O5 too. The Professor, Scott, Ororo, Jean split the X-Men into three teams. Naturally, Scott and Ororo would each lead one.

But the third? Do they even ask me if I want to lead? Do they even consider me? I think that's what's been burning me up the most the past few days, to be honest. They didn't even ask," Hank said.

"I'm sorry, Hank. I didn't even know you wanted to be a leader," Bobby said.

"See, that's just it. I don't think I genuinely want to. It's just the fact that everyone takes for granted that I don't. They take for granted that good old Henry won't make a fuss. Good old, happy go lucky Hank is just happy to be here and be locked in his lab. I've been here essentially since day one. Day one. I've got nine billion PHDs as you put it.

Do you think they just hand those out? They take dedication. Determination. Organization. Focus. Strength. Management. All the traits of a good leader.

But no. We need a third leader for a team? Let's ask Bishop. Forget Beast who's been here since the beginning. No. He doesn't mind. Just stick him in his lab until we need some crazy invention to bail us out. Let's ask the loose cannon from the future. And I love Bishop. It's not about him. I'm happy for him. I guess I don't know why I'm so angry. But I am. I am and it's been eating me up inside," Hank said.

"I think it sounds like you feel overlooked. Taken for granted. We both do," Bobby said.

"That's a bad problem to have in a selfless business like the one we're in," Hank said.

"… The worst," Bobby said.

Hank gingerly stood up.

"Danger Room. Initiate program: Focus: 601," Hank said.

Bobby went to his feet.

"… Do you think we'll beat Exodus? Truthfully?" Hank said.

"Yeah," Bobby said.

Hank grinned.

"I wish I shared your optimism," Hank said.

"Not optimism. Way I figure it, the easy way out would be us losing. Hear me out.

See, if we lose, it's over.

The _real_ defeat is having to survive. Go on and fight over and over and over the same fight until the end of time. We're trapped. We're going to be doing this forever, Blue Boy. Hope you're ready for that." Bobby nervously laughed.

The Danger Room program initiated. A troop of sentinels materialized in front of the Beast and Iceman.

Hank inhaled.

"I wouldn't have it any other way!" Hank leapt at a sentinel.


	24. Chapter 24

**Veteran Affairs Medical Center, Houston, Texas; Helipad.**

"Do it again!" Bishop snapped at Jubilee.

The bass in his voice boomed over the storm. The white of his eyes flashed like lightning.

Bishop pointed at the tower door. Jubilee's plasma burst had barely scratched the steel surface. The padlock remained. Unbroken. Along with Bishop's gnarled look of disdain.

Heavy rain bore down on Betsy and her two teammates. Even in her poncho, every drop was like a railroad spike driving her deeper into the concrete. She waded through a foot of water on the helipad to join Bishop and Jubilee at the tower staircase.

Betsy glanced at Bishop.

Rain rolled off his shoulders like the broad side of a mountain. The howling wind snapped tree limbs and shattered glass.

Bishop didn't flinch. He just squinted harder. Harsher. Until his eyes were thin lines drawn across the downpour.

Jubilee wrapped herself in her yellow jacket. Her sleeves flapped in the whipping winds. She scrunched her little face until it looked like a rung-out sponge.

"I told you already, that's the best I can do!" Jubilee said.

"Then do better!" Bishop said.

Betsy slid between them.

"We don't have time for this…" Betsy drew her katana.

"Hey, don't look at me! Dude's the one that forced me to come in the first place." Jubilee crossed her arms.

"Move…" Psylocke passed Jubilee and raised her sword.

Bishop waved Psylocke off.

"We're not going anywhere until she blows this door down!" Bishop shouted.

"What's your problem, B? The psycho drill instructor thing is getting way old," Jubilee said.

Bishop approached Jubilee. His looming shadow swallowed her neon jacket.

" _My_ problem?" Bishop huffed.

His kettle face boiled. He grabbed his plasma shotgun and aimed for the door.

" _My_ problem is that you spent all last mission in Beast's arms, unconscious! _My_ problem is this attitude of yours that someone's always going to be there to bail you out!" Bishop fired.

The plasma blast blew the two-inch thick door off its hinges.

Human bodies tumbled from behind the door. Their cold, dead flesh splashed onto the rooftop puddle.

Jubilee jumped back.

"Gross…!" Jubilee said.

"Stay back," Bishop said.

He and Psylocke clutched their weapons and inched closer to the heap of bullet riddled bodies. Half a dozen men and women, dressed in scrubs, splattered with cardinal red.

Betsy checked their pulses.

Bishop stared in disbelief. The gleam in his eyes asked the question before his lips did.

Betsy shook her head.

"The way they were piled up at the door…" Jubilee said.

"They were trying to escape," Bishop said.

"Apparently, someone didn't want them to," Betsy said.

"Let's find out why," Bishop said.

"What a way to go…" Jubilee held her hand over her mouth.

Bishop turned to Jubilee.

"Psylocke and I will investigate. The transmission said they were holed up in the second-floor pharmacy. We'll start there. Head back to the Blackbird and listen for any more distress signals," Bishop said.

"No way! I didn't let you drag me all the way out here just so you could yell at me and wait in the Blackbird! What am I, the X-dog? You guys need me," Jubilee said.

"What I _need_ is for you to show me you can follow simple orders. I'm not Beast. I don't have time to babysit you," Bishop glared at Jubilee.

Her eyes widened. For a second.

"Yeah, fine. Whatever. Like I care what you think," Jubilee popped her collar.

"You should…" Betsy walked past Jubilee, "… You're a liability."

"And you should mind your own business. Nobody's talking to you. You're not even on this team," Jubilee said.

"You're right. We're both out of place," Betsy said.

Bishop cocked his shotgun. He and Psylocke crept past the pile of bodies into the tower. Waiting to strike anything that moved.

The tower opened to a dizzying emergency staircase. It reeked of salty musk and dry blood, wafting up and down the stairs like restless spirits.

Bishop clicked the light on his shotgun as they descended the barren staircase.

Betsy tried to glance back at Jubilee, but she was just a silhouette on the other side of the entryway. A stranger in the darkness.

Maybe they were too hard on Jubilee. She was only nineteen. She was still a baby.

But the glare in Bishop's eyes. That scowl he gave Jubilee…

Betsy knew that face better than her own.

Before the Morlock Massacre, she always got that face. That contemptible, unforgettable look of, why are you even here?

What do you do?

You don't belong.

Brian, bless his heart, he'd give her that look. Wasn't out of malice or to be mean-spirited. She knew that.

She knew he loved her.

They loved each other as much as a brother and sister could. Or should. But deep down, there was a time he'd look at her with author eyes. The kind that told stories. Stories about how he was destined to always protect her.

How she was weak.

Frail.

Just some brittle model and dumb intellectual…

 _Just_.

As if it was so easy.

But, right or wrong, she knew that's how he felt.

Same when she joined the X-Men. Maybe worse. At least Brian was family. A part of him naturally wanted to look out for her. He was her brother.

But the X-Men?

No, sir.

Their ragtag outfit looked her up and down and wrote her off as some waifish telepath that wouldn't be able to handle herself when the real fighting started. Sometimes it felt like Wolverine didn't even want to share the same kitchen as her. Let alone the same battlefield.

Her time as Captain Britain?

Didn't mean a damn to them. In their eyes, Betsy was Jubilee before there was a Jubilee.

Soft. Useless.

It was hard not to sympathize with Jubilee. For all she'd been through, she was still a little kid. Betsy was too. Once. But the difference was that Betsy outgrew it.

Betsy swatted the soggy strands of hair off her face as she and Bishop trudged lower into the hospital.

Betsy changed. She was a hardened warrior and one of the most dangerous X-Men.

The old, gentle-hearted Psylocke was gone. Long gone. Buried in Kwannon's shell. And Betsy was better for it.

She blinked.

Yeah. She was better for it.

And if she could change? Why couldn't Jubilee?

Nothing seemed to get through to her. Jean, Storm, Scott, the Professor, Gambit, Rogue, even Wolverine…especially Wolverine, they all babied Jubilee. According to Bishop's report of their Chile mission, all that babying is doing Jubilee a great disservice. One that might cost her life sooner or later.

Ugh. The thought of another child dying churned Betsy's stomach. But the thing was, Jubilee wasn't a child anymore. She was an adult. A young one. But an adult nonetheless.

She needed to start acting like one.

The pitter of Bishop and Betsy's damp footsteps echoed in the dark. Twelve steps down. Turn. Twelve steps more. They descended the winding staircase from the tenth down each floor. One by one.

"EMT's received multiple distress calls thirty-four hours, twenty-seven minutes ago for air-rescue…" Bishop broke the silence, "… But with all the flood evacuations they deemed these veterans not a priority."

"Shocking," Betsy said.

"It's a shame. In my future, we honor the strong… We don't second guess them," Bishop said.

Betsy sighed.

"… She's not going to change. You know that, right?" Betsy said.

Bishop's cheek twitched.

"…We take out our gunman and find as many survivors as we can," Bishop said.

"If there are any. God knows what we'll find…" Betsy removed the hood of her poncho, "… Lucas?"

"Mm-hmm?" Bishop grunted.

Betsy stopped midway down the fourth-floor.

"Do you think we did the right thing? Coming here? I… let me rephrase that. I know our intentions, but… this isn't like you and I," Betsy said.

"How so?" Bishop turned to her.

"Let's face it. We are risking our lives for people who are most likely dead. Either drowned or shot. And if either or both of us should, God forbid, get injured, that would greatly reduce our manpower against Exodus," Betsy said.

"I meant, how is that not like us?" Bishop said.

"It's not logical. I've never known you to make decisions out of sentimentality. You are ruled, much like me, by reason. Even if it goes against what your heart wants. I've always respected that about you. You would have made a good ninja," Betsy said.

"Another life, perhaps." Bishop smirked.

"This is another life. For me, at least." Betsy smiled back.

"Me as well…" Bishop sighed.

"… Storm was right. We shouldn't be here, should we?" Betsy said.

"I shouldn't even be in this time. You shouldn't be in that body. But we are. Because we have to.

That's reason enough. Being here is no different. I know you, Psylocke. I know your profile. And you're right. You're not one for sentimentality. You knew coming into this that the smart course of action would be to save our strength for Exodus.

I know why I'm here.

Why are you?" Bishop said.

"I… I honestly could not tell you. I just know the thought of sitting in the mansion. Waiting for something to happen…It would have driven me quite mad," Betsy said.

"I don't think we are as logical as you say. Or we'd like to believe. We just like control," Bishop said.

"… You might be right… Is that why you're here?" Betsy said.

"No. I'm not here for me…" Bishop said.

"You really do sympathize with these veterans, don't you? It's admirable," Betsy said.

"As much as I'd like it to be, that's not it either," Bishop said.

"…I know you mean well, but the road to hell is paved with good intentions. You're wasting your breath trying to reach her. She is what she is," Betsy said.

"I don't believe that…" Bishop blinked, "…And even if I did, I still have to try. Her powers should theoretically allow her to generate and manipulate all plasma energy. She's like Drake. If someone could just motivate them, they could be two of the most powerful X-Men. And I'm tired of seeing people letting them get by with just getting by."

"People don't change, Lucas. That's something you're going to have to come to terms with one day," Betsy said.

"You did," Bishop said.

"Did I? Sometimes I feel like all I did was take the Elizabeth Braddock mask off," Psylocke said.

"She deserves the same chance," Bishop said.

"… There's more to it than that. Like you said, she's just like Drake. But he's not the one you brought," Betsy said.

Bishop sagged his shoulders.

"… When I first came to this time, I felt trapped. For weeks, I assumed it was because I was stuck in a place and time I had heard about in legends. But the more time I spent with the X-Men, the more I realized it was the future I was trapped in. My time. My way of doing things. No matter how I tried to help or contribute, I only made things worse. I was trapped in the culture of my time.

I didn't fit in.

The X-Men, the heroes of my childhood, took me in. Gave me a home and a new purpose. But I still didn't fit in. Only one person made an effort… cared enough to try to help me fit in," Bishop said.

"Jubilee…" Betsy said.

Bishop nodded.

"She would drag me to the mall. Drag me roller skating. Try to teach me her vernacular. Try to help me fit in and be a part of the team. I…" Bishop cleared his throat, "… I never said thank you."

He took a deep breath.

"… I just want to return the favor. I want her to fit in with the rest of the X-Men. Now that time has passed and she's not a child anymore, I want her to fit in with the Cyclopses, the Storms, the Wolverines, the Psylockes… I want her to be a respected warrior like everyone else," Bishop said.

Betsy gently touched his shoulder. She looked up slightly, making sure to catch his eyes, and struggled to smile through the pain.

"You can want the best for someone, Lucas. But if they don't want it for _themselves_ … then what does it matter?" Betsy said.

"… I am… learning that," Bishop said.

"It's a lesson that sticks with you. Trust me," Betsy said.

"Indeed," Bishop said.

The two X-Men marched down the concrete steps past the third floor. A wall of smoke hit them as they approached the second floor.

"It smells like Henry's laptop when we went to London. He didn't have an outlet converter and almost burnt the hotel down." Betsy coughed into her shoulder.

"Electrical fire. Flood must have damaged some wiring," Bishop said.

"It's coming from below us. Look," Betsy said.

Noxious, white smoke seeped through the creases around the second floor door.

"Someone there? Help! We're in here! Hurry before they come back!" a woman shouted.

Her shrill voice was faint. Muffled.

Desperate.

"Scan to see if it's a trap," Bishop whispered.

Betsy nodded.

Psylocke pressed her fingers to her temples. A violet butterfly floated over her face. She telepathically scanned the second floor.

Death, decay, rotting, scorched bodies flashed in her mind.

Betsy reeled back, wincing from the sudden shock.

"Psylocke!" Bishop said.

"… I couldn't get a good read. Something terrible happened in there. I just sensed pain. Death, dying…" Betsy rubbed her forehead.

"Please! Don't leave us! The flames are getting closer!" The woman shouted from behind the door.

"…We don't have a choice," Bishop whispered to Psylocke.

He stood tall.

"Stay calm!" Bishop called out, "We're here to get you out! How many of you are there?"

"Thank God! Thank God, thank God, thank God! Just two of us, me and my brother. He's hurt badly, he needs a doctor! Hurry! We can barely breathe!" the woman coughed.

"Hold on!" Bishop said.

"We need the masks from the Blackbird," Betsy said.

Bishop nodded. He pressed his X symbol communicator.

"Jubilation, we found survivors, bring the oxygen masks and med kit to the pharmacy. Over," Bishop said.

No answer.

He waited. The pregnant pause was like New York traffic. Dabs of sweat glistened over the bridge of his nose.

"Jubilation, come in…" Bishop said through his teeth.

He looked at Betsy.

"Jubilation! This is Bishop! Respond! Jubilee!" Bishop shouted.


	25. Chapter 25

Chapter 26

 **Veterans Affairs Medical Center, Houston: Pharmacy**

"Grrahh, I shouldn't have left her alone…" Bishop growled.

"Hu-*cough cough*… hurry! Please!" the woman screamed from behind the door.

"We have to make a move…" Betsy stared at Bishop.

"Right. Head back to the Blackbird. Whoever they're hiding from might've attacked Jubilee. I'll get the survivors out," Bishop said.

"How? There's too much smoke!" Betsy said.

"I'll find a way." Bishop aimed his shotgun at the door and raised his voice, "You and your brother get clear of the door!"

Bishop blew through the door with a plasma shell. Columns of smoke roared out the doorway and enveloped him.

Betsy dashed up the staircase. The sudden rush of carbon monoxide scorched her lungs. She gasped for breath. It was like Sabretooth crushing her diaphragm all over again.

She survived that. She'd survive this.

Betsy grabbed the guard rail and pulled herself up. She shook her head, but she couldn't shake the lightheadedness. Felt like she was thirty stories up. Not three.

She needed something to focus on. Make the staircase stop spinning.

Her piercing, brown eyes lingered on Bishop until he disappeared into the charcoal smoke.

She was only partially honest with him.

She wouldn't know what to do with herself if she wasn't here. That was true.

She'd probably meditate somewhere on the estate. World as she knew it might end in twenty-four hours, and she'd waste the time twiddling her thumbs.

At least this way, being out here, on a mission, she could pretend she was doing something.

Pretending was good.

But there was more to it.

Pretending was the only way she knew how to cope. She'd lost her face. Her identity. How could she go on _without_ pretending everything was alright? Pretending so hard that it became reality.

And the reality was that she didn't fit in on the Red Team.

The romances. Drama. Jokes…

That's where Jubilee should be.

Psylocke was perfect for Bishop's tactical, militaristic Blue Team.

The X-Men needed someone detached to lead. Someone willing to make cold, calculated decisions based on logic. Not the heart.

How many missions went awry because they hemmed and hawed over personal feelings? How many times could they have put Magneto down _before_ he made the first move? But no, the Professor always had to follow his heart and try to reach his old friend one last time.

How many last times have there been?

How many people had to die because the X-Men didn't have the fortitude to follow through with the rational choice?

If the world came to an end, then, for just one day, Elizabeth Braddock wanted to be someplace she belonged.

But Lucas wasn't the man she thought he was.

She thought Lucas was different. Or maybe just hoped.

She could hear it in his voice. The passion when he talked about Jubilee. The veterans. He was every bit as naïve and sentimental as Cyclops, the Professor, Storm, Jean…

Betsy cleared her throat. She almost choked on her own spit.

She was trapped.

Honest to God. She was trapped.

Red Team. Blue Team. It was all the same.

All still the X-Men.

All still life. Her life. An unending hamster wheel she'd never escape.

Betsy inhaled. The air grew fresher as she neared the fourth floor. She stepped over the tattered corpses strewn over the staircase.

A slick, blood soaked hand snatched her right ankle.

"Ah!" Betsy gasped.

She yanked her leg away but couldn't break free. The corpses moaned. Their cold, stiff flesh jerked to life and pawed at Psylocke's calves.

"Zombies?!" Psylocke said.

She twisted her left leg free and stomped the hand attached to her other ankle. Bones shattered like dead leaves. The broken wrist sloughed off her right foot.

Betsy scrambled from the heap of undead bodies on the floor.

"God, Jubilee…!" Betsy said.

She sprinted up past the fifth floor, but the door ripped open from the other side.

"Dah!" Psylocke jumped back.

Four undead corpses pushed through. Groaning. Slobbering. Blood gushed out their bullet wounds. Their leathery skin reeked of rotten eggs and onions.

"I don't have time for this!" Psylocke drew her psiblade, the focused totality of her telepathy, and jammed it in the side of the first zombie's skull.

It didn't flinch.

Betsy's eyes bulged. She quickly reached for her sword.

The walking corpse swatted Betsy's arm away. The rest pounced on her. Ropey drool dripped on Bety's chin. One zombie strangled her while the others wrenched her arms and legs.

"AARGH!" Betsy shrieked.

 **Pharmacy**

Bishop tucked his face and charged into the flames. Bodies lined the pharmacy floor. Patient gowns, scrubs, and white coats torn to shreds by bullets. At least two dozen veterans and staff members, dead.

The fire ravaged the waiting area. Flames ate away the fabric of each chair, as well as the corpses seated in them.

"Over here! *Cough cough* We're over here!" the woman screamed from behind the pharmacy counter.

"Stay down!" Bishop said.

Flames danced on the counter top. Columns of fire cut the waiting room off from the back of the pharmacy.

"Th-there's an extinguisher by the emergency exit! Hurry!" the woman yelled.

Bishop twisted and turned.

"I don't see it! *Cough cough*" Bishop yelled.

His heart pounded.

Where was the damn thing? Cinders and ash singed his eyelashes. Could barely keep his eyes open. Let alone make anything out in the haze of red.

Air was thinning. Couldn't breathe… The room felt like it was shrinking. Blackening. It was like he was falling into sleep…. A dark, hellish slumber…

He staggered to the side. His legs wobbled like a rickety table. He stumbled to the wall and pressed against it. Anything to keep the room from moving.

"Please! Whoever you are, you have to help us! Please!" the woman screamed.

Bishop slunk down the wall to the floor. He hacked and wheezed until his throat was raw.

Where the hell was the extinguisher? It was probably hiding in plain sight. Had to.

He stuck his arm out and swiped left and right on the floor. Desperately hoping to bump into the extinguisher.

Nothing.

His hands bumped into rows of dripping corpses until his fingers had so much blood on them they glided over each body.

No sign of the extinguisher. Only dead bodies and windows across the waiting room.

Windows…

Bishop's arm trembled as he reached for his shotgun. He aimed at the windows with his shaky grip.

And fired.

The glass shattered from the plasma shell. He fired again and again until the shotgun overheated.

The sudden pressure change sucked the smoke toward the broken windows to the outside. A chilling gust of wind and hail blew in. The pounding rain weakened the flames.

Bishop rolled onto his back. His thick chest pressed up and down as he fought for each breath.

Jubilee…

Hope to God Psylocke found her. Lazy girl was probably napping with those infernal headphones on.

If anything happened to her…

Bishop rolled onto his side and stood up.

"I'm getting you out!" Bishop sucked in as much damp air as he could.

He leapt over the pharmacy counter and barreled through the weakened flames.

"OhmiGod!" the woman shouted as Bishop landed beside her.

She looked about Jubilee's age. Frazzled, auburn hair. No makeup. Her breath smelled of ketones. Smoke and blood stained her wrinkly lab coat in a muddy shade of red. Looked like she hadn't slept for days. Her tag read, Pharmacy Technician: Asmara.

Next to her was a young man. Same hair color. Same coffee brown complexion. Fit the bill of her brother. A collapsed stock shelf pinned him to the ground.

Bishop hunkered beside the stock shelf and slid his fingers underneath. Asmara nodded.

"One, two, three…!" Bishop pulled.

His neck disappeared in his bulging shoulders. His arms and legs trembled as he lifted the shelf six inches off the young man. Asmara quickly dragged him from under the shelf.

Bishop dropped the shelf. It banged against the floor with a jarring thud.

"Nima!" the woman rushed over to her brother and squeezed him.

Her hug looked like she was strangling him. Why would she cut off his air after he had been crushed for so long? Strange customs amongst family in this time. Shard would never have done that.

Shard…

"Are you hurt?!" Asmara patted Nima's arms and chest for cuts.

She reached into her backpack on the floor and gave Nima a bottle of water.

"… I'm fine, I'm fine… I told you, sis, we're getting out alive…" Nima forced a smile.

His face was swollen with welts across his cheeks and chin. His short, brown hair was disheveled like he'd been in a fight. And lost. He wasn't in a lab coat. Just regular street clothes. Black jeans and a camo jacket with a t-shirt underneath. And a med bracelet.

Nima faced Bishop.

"Than-…" Nima started.

"Can you walk?" Bishop said.

Nima blinked a few times.

"… Yeah, I think so…" Nima struggled to his feet.

His knee buckled.

"Your leg!" Asmara caught him before he fell.

"I'm ok, urgh… I'm ok. Really. Just need to get the blood flowing." Nima stretched out his legs.

"No time." Bishop slung Nima over his shoulder, "Now's our chance before the flames build back up!"

Bishop carried Nima and jumped over the counter. His black, military boots trampled the low flame on the countertop. He waved Asmara on.

She put her backpack on. Stared at the flames. And hesitated. Her petrified, wide eyes were those of a deer in headlights.

"Move!" Bishop yelled.

His piercing tone hit her like a gunshot and snapped her back to attention.

He reached his arm out to her. She jumped over the countertop and grabbed his hand.

"This way!" Bishop pointed to the emergency staircase.

Vicious winds blew in from the broken windows and beat against their backs like giant, invisible hands. The raging howls of the storm sounded like wolves baying at the moon. Buckets of rain poured in and flooded the floor. The pharmacy was a sinking ship with Bishop and Asmara splashing through the puddles.

Asmara glimpsed the storm outside.

"… It…It was supposed to be in the seventies this wee-…" she mumbled.

Powerful gusts throttled in before she could finish. A dervish of broken glass swept toward Asmara.

She froze.

"Get down!" Bishop shouted.

He and Nima dropped to the floor. Asmara ducked and tucked her head.

Jagged bits of glass swirled over her and sliced her back.

"AAARGHH!" Asmara wailed.

"Mara!" Nima yelled.

He crawled to his bloody sister. Bishop yanked Nima by the collar.

"Stairs are just through there, we'll meet you!" Bishop pointed at the blown apart emergency exit doorway.

"Please take care of her! She's all I got!" Nima said.

He dashed to the doorway, weaving around the corpses blocking the way.

Bishop sprang to his feet and sprinted over to Asmara.

A second whirlwind kicked up more glass. Bishop shielded Asmara with his body as glass shards carved into his back like shrapnel.

"Urgh…" Bishop winced.

Blood streaked down his back and rolled onto Asmara underneath him.

"No!" she crawled from under Bishop and checked his back.

Blood seeped into the creases in her palms.

"O-Only scratches… We're almost there." Bishop staggered to his feet.

Asmara draped his hulking arm over her shoulder. The two limped toward the emergency exit. Nima rushed back out and helped drag Bishop through the doorway to the staircase.

The three collapsed at the foot of the stairs. Struggling to catch their breath. Nima brushed off pieces of glass from his sister's back.

"…It's not as bad as it looks…" Asmara said.

"So many killed… What happened here…?" Bishop said between gasps.

"…People happened… That's what," Nima said.

"Everyone just started losing their mind… At first we were ok… even after we lost power, but when the hours started going by and no one came for us…We kept calling and calling, but… I don't know… Some of the veterans… they couldn't handle it. Being trapped. Abandoned… Some of them started having flashbacks…" Asmara said.

"Guys I served with… good guys… they just… snapped. One minute we're all in the cafeteria, doing ok. We didn't have power, but we had plenty of food. But…like I said…good, decent guys… they just couldn't take it. They were back in Iraq. They overpowered the staff and security, got their weapons… And just like that, it's martial law," Nima said.

"Cafeteria…?" Bishop said.

"Yeah, that's where we all were before we tried to barricade ourselves in the pharmacy. It all happened so fast…they did a coup and decided they were getting themselves out. There's a backup generator underground. But with the flooding, everything was switched off. They thought it was a great idea to turn it back on and shot anyone who tried to stop them," Asmara said.

"Idiots did it... They got the backup generator running. And next thing we know? Electrical fires break out everywhere. I managed to overpower some of them in the chaos, but by then… what was the point? Everyone that wasn't shot was burned alive," Nima said.

"… It's just us now and a few of the veterans running around. We were afraid it was them when you came… All the patients… my coworkers…" Asmara sniffled, "What a joke, huh? What a sick joke life is… Doesn't even matter that people are drowning to death out there in the hurricane. We'll do the job for mother nature." Asmara rubbed her eyes.

"You two survived. That's victory enough," Bishop said.

"We've been through a lot… I know it might not sound like it, but we're grateful you came when you did. I knew you guys would come eventually," Nima said.

"You knew _we_ were coming?" Bishop said.

"Of course. You air-rescue jerks are slow, but you always come through." Nima jokingly smiled.

"… Yes… indeed…" Bishop awkwardly smiled.

"Ignore him. We can't thank you enough. We owe you our lives, Mister…" Asmara said.

"…Bishop." Bishop said.

"Thank you, Mr. Bishop," Asmara said.

Nima nodded in agreement and shook Bishop's hand.

"Damn, hell of a grip. Retired marines?" Nima said.

"Something like that. We need to get to the roof, we can airlift you guys to safety," Bishop said.

He pressed his communicator and shut his eyes.

Please…

"Come in, Jubilation. I've secured the survivors and we're heading back to the Blackbird. Respond," Bishop said.

He held his breath.

No answer.

"Come in. Psylocke, anyone, respond!" Bishop said.

He clenched his fists.

"How many armed veterans are left exactly? My team might be in danger," Bishop said.

He hobbled to his feet and started for the stairs. Nima and Asmara stood up behind him.

Asmara reached into her backpack.

"Two," Nima said.

"And Mr. Bishop?" Asmara jammed a pistol against the back of Bishop's skull, "they're right behind you."


	26. Chapter 26

**Veterans' Affairs Medical Center; Houston**

"You-!" Bishop said.

"Shut up!" Nima barked.

He grabbed Bishop's plasma shotgun.

"Move!" Asmara prodded Bishop up the stairs, her pistol digging into his skin.

"You're gonna fly us out of here, and you're gonna do it with a smile on your face if you don't want your little friend's neck snapped," Nima said.

Bishop flinched.

Jubilee!

Asmara struck the back of his head with the hilt of her gun.

Bishop dropped to a knee.

"Get up!" Nima shouted.

Bishop struggled to raise his head. Felt like trying to lift a car with his neck. His vision blurred. Hazy smears of purple swayed side to side atop the stairs.

Bishop blinked. His eyes fluttered until the streaks of purple converged.

Elizabeth. With two zombies behind her. Their leathery, blood stained arms wrapped around her throat.

"… Psylocke…!" Bishop said.

What about Ju-…

"Last chance! Move or she's dead!" Asmara gazed at the zombies.

Her hazel eyes glowed sunset-red.

On cue, the zombies tightened their grip. Betsy's bloodshot eyes bulged. Her face turned a deeper shade of purple than her tousled hair.

"Alright!" Bishop crawled to his feet.

The zombies marched backwards up the stairs, facing Bishop. He climbed each step. Psylocke's limp body dangled in front of him like a human carrot.

He hated himself for even thinking it, but every second he had to watch Betsy suffer, every second her breathing grew weaker and weaker, Bishop could only think of Jubilee.

She was unaccounted for.

Pain went away. Wounds healed.

Not knowing?

It was the worst kind of hurt. The kind that lasted. No matter how much time passed. In either direction.

He knew better than everyone else. He knew the ending. Sentinels. Camps. Genocide. And knowing the future made living in the past unbearable. Did his presence in this time change his future? Erase it? Delay it?

Or maybe trigger it?

So much had deviated already from the history he knew. Or at least the history he was taught. He just didn't know.

Sometimes it made him want to do nothing at all. Maybe if he didn't breathe, then things wouldn't be affected.

Then sometimes he'd want to take control of his destiny. Do what he felt was best for the future and hope, hope it made a difference. A lot of times life felt like someone put a blindfold on him then handed him a gun. Best he could hope for would be to not do anything.

Not knowing… the uncertainty ate away at him. Maggots of the soul. Festering.

Where was Jubilee? What happened?

Who was Nima talking about? His little friend? He assumed that was Jubilee. Had to be.

But all evidence pointed to Elizabeth. Did they have them both?

Did they already kill Jubilee? They only needed one person as leverage. Not two. It'd be poor strategy to hold Betsy and Jubilee.

She could've been expendable once they captured Elizabeth…

God willing, Jubilee was hiding somewhere. She might have seen those zombies coming and ran. Afraid to answer her communicator because it might give up her position.

Smart. Cowardly, but smart.

It was his fault.

He shouldn't have left her alone. Psylocke was right. Jubilee just doesn't have it in her to be like the rest of the team. She needed someone to look out for her.

And Bishop let her down. His stubbornness might cost her life.

They climbed to the roof. Zombies in front, dragging Psylocke. Nima and Asmara in back. With Bishop where he always seemed to be.

Caught in the middle.

Chilling rain and thunder blitzed the helipad. The heavy winds almost toppled Bishop. There were corpses piled around the tower doorway when they landed. Now those desecrated bodies were scattered around the helipad, no doubt from the whipping winds.

Bishop sneered and trudged through the furious storm toward the Blackbird.

Nima and Asmara followed and stared at the enormous jet.

"Look at this baby," Nima said.

"Air-rescuers, huh?" Asmara said.

"Where is the girl!" Bishop said.

"Heh. You might've hit him a little too hard, sis," Nima said.

"Here's the deal. Mr. Bishop. Fly us out of here. No tricks. No games. And once we're airborne, I'll shut off my zombies and let the girl go. If you hurry, you might have time to circle back to pick her up after you drop us off before the whole building is flooded," Asmara said.

"You don't have a choice. Either you do what we say. Or we all die together," Nima said.

Bishop didn't answer.

He frantically searched for a yellow trench coat among the corpses. His heart beat like a drumroll.

Finding her terrified him. Not finding her was even worse.

No sign of Jubilee. Her body could have been blown clear off the roof. She was just a little thing. Wind could've gotten under her and… She could be facedown, drifting among the rest of the dead.

"He's not going to do it… Look at his eyes…" Nima said.

"Fine, we'll take our chances flying ourselves." Asmara stared at her zombies.

They jerked to attention and wrenched Psylocke's neck like a wine cork.

"Stop it! I'll do it!" Bishop put his hands up in surrender.

"Smart. See, that wasn't so hard," Asmara said.

She held Bishop in her sights and inched toward the Blackbird door. She motioned Bishop over.

He kept his arms up and treaded slowly over the dead bodies toward the Blackbird. Nima walked six steps behind Bishop, never moving the plasma shotgun off Bishop's broad back.

"Easy… easy, big boy. No sudden moves," Nima said.

Bishop approached the Blackbird. Asmara pointed right between his eyes.

Nima traced Bishop's exact steps. Weaving over and around each dead body to the center of the helipad.

"Doing good, Mr. Bi-!" Nima stepped beside a corpse.

The lifeless body detonated like a landmine. A brilliant explosion of plasma fireworks launched Nima across the helipad. The thunderous force of the blast leveled Bishop to the ground like an earthquake.

"AAAARGGHH!" Nima screeched.

"Nima!" Asmara shielded her eyes from the sparks with her forearms.

The Blackbird door slid open.

Jubilee jumped out and throttled Asmara with two boots to the face.

"Leave my friends alone!" Jubilee shouted.

Asmara's head smacked against the pavement. Her gun bounced out of her hand. Her backpack spilled open. Dozens upon dozens of prescription bottles and pills tumbled out and rolled to the edge of the roof.

The zombies went limp. Psylocke dropped from their grasp and crumpled onto the rooftop.

"Watch out!" Jubilee looked at Betsy.

Psylocke quickly rolled away from the zombies.

Jubilee fired a radiant ball of plasma that blew the zombies ten feet back.

Asmara scurried behind Jubilee's back and reached for the pills.

"No!" Asmara shouted as the bottles rolled off the rooftop just past her fingertips.

Asmara turned and grabbed for the gun.

Jubilee snatched it from the blacktop.

"No." Jubilee removed the magazine.

Asmara collapsed on her back and rubbed the melon welt on her forehead.

. "…Ju-Jubilation?" Bishop said.

"Hey, take it easy, B." Jubilee rushed to his side.

"… That was your timed explosive…?" Bishop wiped the rain from his eyes.

"One of them. I planted like ten. Some of those zombie dweebs came after me in the Blackbird. I took 'em out and went to warn you guys, but they were all over the staircase. So I would lure a few up, plant a bomb. And boom! They're not too bright as far as zombies go," Jubilee said.

She helped Bishop to his feet.

"… I did not know you knew how to do that," Bishop said.

"Yeah, well, y'know, all that time I was Wondra or on Generation X, it's not like I ever had to fight for my life or anything," Jubilee said.

"… Good show, Jubilee," Psylocke wheezed.

"Please. The Last of Us was harder." Jubilee bounced Betsy's back.

"*Cough cough*… I'll take your word for it." Betsy gingerly stood up, gasping for air.

"Gotta say, purple really is your color. 'Specially in the face." Jubilee elbowed Betsy.

"… It's… it's a fashion statement." Betsy smiled.

"So what do we do with them, B?" Jubilee said.

"Let's find out…" Bishop turned to Asmara, "… What really happened here?"

"Please… it's not our faults…" Asmara broke into tears.

"Spill it lady," Jubilee said.

Betsy formed her psiblade and pointed right between Asmara's eyes.

"I'm a telepath. It's up to you if you don't want to be conscious when we get the truth," Betsy said.

"I'm telling the truth! I swear… it's not our fault! We didn't want any of this, and that's the honest to God truth. I've worked here as a pharm tech seven months now. You know how hard it was to find a job? I was unemployed almost a year after school…

Nima… my brother's a Vet. But they never did anything for him here after he came back. Just made him wait eight hours every time and gave him pain pills. Eventually he got addicted. What did they expect?

His cravings got bad. I… I didn't know how bad. I just knew he had been shot a few times over there. Who was I to tell him how much pain he was in?

Sometimes… when he couldn't wait or get in… I'd… I'd sneak him some medication. I thought I was helping. He's a veteran for God's sake! Why should he be treated like some bum off the street just to see a doctor? It was innocent enough at first.

Then one day… Nima told me he was in trouble. All the pills I'd been stealing turned out to not be for Nima. He was selling them.

And they wanted more. Always more. It got to the point where they wanted everything. A few weeks ago, they planned this big raid on the pharmacy. We had to help. If we didn't they'd turn us in for everything we stole. I worked too hard to lose my job… It was a pretty good plan. Simple and clean.

But the problem was that no one expected the flood. Or cared. We tried to cancel, but they thought we were just trying to back out. They set the day, and nothing, not the weather, not us, nothing was going to stop it from happening.

But it all went to hell. They come in and end up shooting a bunch of people because of all the chaos from the flood. And when they reach us in the pharmacy? Power's out. So the automated locks to the refrigerator and meds are sealed shut.

They still won't accept it's not meant to be. They go for the backup generator, turn it on, and they burn up in the electrical fire, along with pretty much everything else.

But with them gone, no one cared that Nima and I were innocent… We had to protect ourselves… So… we… started shooting.

Then we were the last ones left. We tried to get out, but the fire pinned us down, and that's when you came in… Please… you have to believe me… we were the victims," Asmara said.

"You killed all those patients. All those veterans. Your coworkers. And you're the victims?" Betsy said.

"… We knew who you were the second you blew through the door. I'm a mutant. Our cousins are mutants. We know you're the X-Men. You've never killed because you had to? Or someone made you or tricked you?" Asmara said.

Bishop looked away.

"You think I don't regret what we did? You want to know the truth? Before you came… God forgive me for saying this… but before you came, I was… I, I was hoping we would die in the fire. Then no one'd know. We'd just be two more bodies. No one'd have to know what we did. We could die and take the guilt with us. I could live with it if I was dead. Then we heard you guys and… and I looked at Nima and… I just wanted to live. I want to go home," Asmara said.

Jubilee glanced at Asmara's face. Sopping wet. But under the dirt marks and wet curtains of hair were a set of big, bright eyes and cherub cheeks.

Jubilee almost choked on her own saliva.

"Christ, B… She's just a baby…" Jubilee said.

She scooped up a pill bottle from a puddle on the roof.

"… Why the hell didn't you go for the gun first? You would've gotten away." Jubilee read the label on the bottle.

Asmara looked away.

"Because she's addicted too," Betsy said.

Jubilee walked over to Asmara. She handed her the bottle.

"Here. These are yours. Got your name on them," Jubilee said.

Betsy hauled Nima's unconscious body off the floor. Jubilee led Asmara into the Blackbird.

"We would've saved you. You know that. You didn't have to attack us. If you had just done nothing, you would've been better off," Bishop said.

"… I know…" Asmara whispered.

"So do we..." Betsy looked at Bishop.

He gazed at the grey sky. Somewhere hidden, buried behind the engorged, dark clouds was the sun. Reminded him of being a child. Staring at a sky filled with darkness. Hoping the sun was still there behind the sentinel skyline.

"… What was the point of it all, Psylocke?" Bishop took a deep breath, "… I suppose you were right. We shouldn't have come. We didn't save anyone," he said.

"I don't know about that, Lucas…" Betsy said.

Betsy pointed at Jubilee and Asmara inside the Blackbird. Jubilee carried handcuffs and approached Asmara.

Asmara put her wrists out. Willingly.

Jubilee paused.

A tear slipped from Asmara's puppy dog eyes.

Jubilee wrapped Asmara's hands in restraints.

"… Thank you," Asmara said.

Betsy turned to Bishop.

"… I agree with one thing you said. Not both," Betsy said.


	27. Chapter 27

**Mansion: Xavier's Study**

The Professor sat at his desk. Blinds drawn. Elbows on his thighs. Hands folded.

 _Charles…_

The Professor hunched over.

A dribble of sweat rolled off his nose into his lap.

 _Charles…_ Onslaught's telepathic voice didn't change.

It didn't have to.

Onslaught's measured tone was like a metronome beating inside the Professor's head. His eardrums nearly popped from each psychic reverberation.

 _Charles…_

The Professor turned to face the windows. Flurries of rain crashed against the glass, hidden behind the tightly drawn blinds.

It was like being in Germany again.

The pounding raindrops were like a mob blowing through the streets. Banging on the doors and windows, demanding the monster come out.

The Professor lowered his head.

But this time, it wasn't Kurt they were after.

Slivers of moonlight snuck through the blinds and captured The Professor's face in dim, vertical bars.

 _Charles…_ Onslaught telepathically said.

 _You are within your right to say what you please. As am I, to disregard you,_ The Professor telepathically said.

 _Oh, Charles, Charles, Charles… Do you know why you didn't ask Amelia?_ Onslaught telepathically said.

Lightning flashed outside like the snap of a photo and bathed the room in a blue pallor.

 _You wanted to…_ Onslaught telepathically said.

 _She's the Acolytes field leader. I could not risk them still being affiliated with Exodus,_ Charles telepathically said.

 _So you would rather set me free?_ Onslaught telepathically said.

 _You are not free,_ The Professor telepathically said.

 _But I will be. You know that. And I'll tear down everything you've built. Like it always happens. We always come back, Charles. And why shouldn't we? You leave the light on. You never put us away. They all see it. They resent you for it. Why is it you can never just look up and see what's right in front of you?_ Onslaught telepathically said. 

"Charlie boy…" Wolverine said from the doorway.

The Professor lifted his head.

Logan approached the desk carrying a large, brown paper bag.

"… I brought the good stuff," Logan said.

He plunked down in the mahogany and green chair opposite the Professor and dumped the bag on the desk.

"I was about to say the same," the Professor reached into his desk drawer.

He pulled out a bottle of Jack Daniels with two shot glasses and sat it next to the bag.

Logan let out a wheezy chuckle.

"Heh. Ain't this somethin'…" Wolverine opened the bag.

He took out a scuffed-up, wooden chessboard and spread it across the desk. The faded tiles blended into a uniform, dull shade of brown. Two-inch thick claw marks stretched the length of the board like empty canals.

"… Well, they're both good for what ails ya," Logan said.

"I don't disagree." The Professor helped assemble the pieces on the board.

Logan grabbed the bottle of Jack and skimmed the label.

"Seventy-four. Good year…" Logan filled the two shot glasses halfway, "Didn't know ya touched the stuff."

"I did my fair share in the service. And even more after the loss of my legs…" the Professor said.

Logan handed him a glass.

"… More than once Amelia had to forcibly separate Mr. Daniels and I." the Professor gazed at his half empty glass.

His eyes lingered.

Logan cocked an eyebrow.

 _Poor little Charlie Xavier… A part of you would do anything for an excuse to see her. Hear her voice,_ Onslaught telepathically said. 

The Professor's hand shook. His drink spilled on his cuff.

 _And a part of you wants any excuse to avoid her. Hope she forgets you so you can forget her…_

"Ha! Ya ain't the first stiff to get the shakes just from the sight o' this stuff," Logan said.

The Professor took a tissue out of his breast pocket.

"Nor the last. A toast?" the Professor wiped his sleeve and the edge of his glass.

"Don't believe in 'em." Logan gulped down his shot.

"Fair enough," the Professor said.

"Slop ain't half bad," Logan said.

The Professor raised his drink and touched his lips to the glass. The brown liquor reeked. It hung in the air like dirty laundry. His nostril curled.

 _You could not live with it, could you, Charles?_

Logan reclined.

"… She was the one, wasn't she, Chuck?" Logan said.

The Professor shuffled in his chair like a deck of cards. Unsure what face would show first.

 _You could not live with the thought of_ _ **her**_ _punishing_ _ **you**_ _?_

"… I beg your pardon?" The Professor said.

"One that got away," Logan said.

The Professor swallowed his drink.

The liquid fire burned his throat. It felt like a drag race in his mouth. And the street was his esophagus.

But he didn't flinch. His stomach churned from the gasoline he just poured into his body. But the Professor didn't move an eyebrow.

 _You still cannot…_

"Used to think it was Moira. Way you follow her around like some love-sick puppy lookin' for approval…" Logan set his row of pawns, "… See for me, my Moira was Mariko…"

The Professor poured another round of shots.

 _You cannot accept anyone else punishing you for your sins but_ _ **you**_ _…_

"… I am sorry for your loss, Logan." The Professor set the bottle to the side.

"… What's done is done…" Logan downed his shot.

And as the alcohol coursed through his body, his gnarled, weathered eyes softened. Widened. His raspy voice lowered.

"… I'd follow that frail around, tryin' anything to impress 'er. There was a man in my head, one I wasn't sure even existed, that I wanted her to think I was. Or could be," Logan said.

He assembled his bishop and picked up his knight.

"… I think, if I'm lookin' back… just me _tryin'_ to be that guy… that was enough fer her," Logan said.

He positioned his knight and let it go.

The Professor aligned his pieces. A front row of pawns with rooks, bishops, and knights hidden behind the faceless soldiers.

 _Even when you know you are wrong, you still must be in control, isn't that right, Charles?_

The Professor stared at the two empty slots on his side of the board. A missing king and queen.

 _You cannot even allow her the right to judge you on_ _ **her**_ _terms?_

"If I were to have any regrets, it would be not trying hard enough to show Moira that I _was_ that man," the Professor said.

" _If_ you were to have any regrets." Logan half smiled.

" _If_ I were." The Professor took a shot.

 _You would rather release me than face Amelia…_

Logan poured another round.

"… Fox was my Amelia..." he said.

The Professor grabbed the king and carefully set it to the right of his bishop.

One piece left.

 _At least with me, you believe deep down that on some level, you are still in control…_

"… We had this cabin in the woods… Some of the best times of my life. I coulda been anyone out there. Logan? Wolverine? Just names without meaning. I coulda been anyone I chose," Logan said.

The Professor surveyed the board. Then his desk.

No queen.

 _Your punishment is your decision. It's the only way you can accept it…_

The Professor glanced at the carpet.

Nothing.

 _Enduring me is your penance..._

"I seem to be short one piece," the Professor said.

 _But you can live with that. As long as it's your decision…_

Logan glared at the thirty-one-piece chessboard. He flipped over the paper bag and shook it down like it owed him money.

"What the flamin'…?" Logan said.

He dropped to his hands and knees and scoured the floor for the missing queen.

"That's quite alright, Logan. We can use a substitute," the Professor said.

"If I can find Creed in Alberta in a blizzard, I can find a flamin' piece of plastic!" Logan growled.

"May I ask when the last time you used this chessboard was?" the Professor said.

Logan crawled under the desk.

"Australia," Logan said.

"… I see," the Professor said.

"Longshot was always babblin' about his luck. Come hell or high water, I was gonna find somethin' to beat him in," Logan said.

"I may only imagine," the Professor said.

He reached into his pocket.

"Here. This will suffice." The Professor set a nickel on the board in the queen's place.

Logan peeked from under the table. He grinned and snaked back into his chair.

"Heh. A king next to money. Now this is real war," Logan said.

"Shall we begin?" the Professor said.

 _But Amelia?_

Logan grabbed his shot glass. Tilted his head back. And guzzled.

"You're move, Charlie." Logan wiped his mouth with his hairy knuckle.

The Professor slid his pawn to G3.

 _I could exterminate humanity, and it wouldn't hurt as much as a simple look of disappointment from Amelia…_

Logan scratched his stubble. Sounded like two plates of concrete sliding against each other.

"A direct attack ain't gonna get it done," Logan said.

He picked up his black knight and moved it to A6.

"Agreed," the Professor said.

He dragged his bishop to F3.

"Problem is, a lot of the others ain't on board with what we gotta do. And even the ones that are, I don't know if they have the stomach for it when the time comes," Logan said.

He moved his knight to B4.

"That is something we will all have to come to terms with. But Exodus is too dangerous to not use Shaw's nanites. It cannot be debated," the Professor said.

He moved his pawn to A2.

"I must admit, I am surprised you are so copacetic to the idea," the Professor said.

"Didn't say that…" Logan moved his bishop to C2 and took a pawn, "… But it don't need to be said. Not for the youngins' ears at least. I never been in a scrap I didn't think I could get outta with these…"

Logan closed his fists.

"… I got no issues dyin' on my sword. If it were up to me, I'd have it out with mullet boy. Face to face. Better man walks out breathin'. And if it ain't me. It ain't me. I overstayed my welcome on this rock a long time ago anyway.

But the thing is, this ain't my fight. I don't much believe in an afterlife. I respect what Crawler does and thinks, so I keep my mouth shut. But what he calls God won't let a man do this to someone…" Wolverine popped his Adamantium claws.

"… Wherever I end up, if it's just the Ol Canuckle head alone with his thoughts six feet under for the rest of time… I won't be at peace if I was too stubborn to do what needed to be done for these kids livin' under this roof of yours. How can I look 'em in the eye every morning at breakfast, Jeannie, Cyke, Hank, Storm, Jubilation, all of 'em, how can I look 'em in the eye if I'm not willing to do _whatever_ it takes to keep 'em alive."

Logan retracted his claws.

"… Even if it involves going against _your_ beliefs?" Charles said.

" _They_ are my beliefs. Yer job's to give 'em a new start. My job's to make sure they get to see the end of it. It's like that time Rogue and Bets and all of them went through that Siege Perilous. They went in one way. Came out someone new. That's you, Chuck," Logan said.

"That is a… unique way of looking at our work here…" Charles moved his king to C2 and took Logan's bishop, "… To continue your analogy, I fear what we will be like on the other side of the coming battle."

 _Why can't you be more like Wolverine?_

Charles picked up his shot glass.

"I… consulted Magnus for information regarding Exodus. His strengths. Weaknesses. Any potential vulnerabilities to exploit…" Charles said.

 _Poor pathetic creature has more heart than you'll ever know…_

"… I could have just as easily contacted Amelia. But I didn't. You see, Logan, I had a cabin in the woods once too…" Charles took a drink.

"… After Amelia and I returned to the States, we had a fresh start. Charles Xavier wasn't Professor X or the Professor. I could have been anyone I wanted to be. Sometimes I lay awake at night, hoping Lilandra reaches out to me across the universe as she once did. And I lay there… I lay there, and I think about how badly, how desperately Professor X needs Lilandra.

I have built this life for myself. A life where my only hope of love and connection is with a woman across the galaxy. I lay there… open a book perhaps… My eyes read. My mind wanders. To places I've never been. To places I'v been too many times. And I imagine what my life would be like… who Charles would be if I hadn't pushed Amelia away. We had a beautiful, quiet life away from everything else.

This estate was our cabin in the woods. And I knocked it down and put a school on top of it," Charles said.

Logan moved his pawn to D6.

"Maybe we shoulda made a toast…" Logan raised his empty glass.

 _There were times you've thought he was an animal. Insane…_

Charles did the same.

"… To cabins in the woods," Logan said.

 _But he's not the one who's been doing the same thing, the same way, hoping for different results year after year, death after death…_

They clinked their empty glasses.

"… I don't want them to be like me, Logan…" Charles lowered his glass, "… I didn't contact Amelia because it never crossed my mind to do so. Not until after I had made my decision. My mind immediately went to Magnus. Cortez. I am certain Amelia, despite her role with the Acolytes, would have willingly assisted us.

I fear Exodus is correct about us. Our future. I fear I, and by extension the X-Men, have become so institutionalized, so conditioned by battle that I unknowingly help keep pushing the ever-turning wheel of hatred and violence.

I give so much power to our enemies, just by merely acknowledging them. And I deprive our allies of so much power by simply overlooking them. Looking past them to our enemies. I tolerate enemies and distance friends.

I tell myself Magnus and Cortez knew Exodus more intimately than Amelia. Cortez's hatred of him would provide more substantive insight. And that may be true. But then I realize, I didn't even try Amelia. I did not. Even. Try.

We are indeed trapped in a cycle. And for many of the X-Men, our coming battle against the one man to point out our hamster wheel lives… It may be the final nail. We cannot lose. But should the X-Men win, where is there to go but back on the wheel? Helping it spin," Charles said.

"Hey. Chuck. Bad news. They _are_ like you," Logan said.

Charles moved a pawn to B3. He let out a tired, sullen laugh.

"Then I suppose after all these years my dream _has_ come true," Charles said.

He smiled and look square in Logan's old, dogged eyes.

"In all this time, Logan, please speak freely, in all the time we have known one another, you have never truly believed in peaceful coexistence coming to pass," Charles said.

Logan moved his queen to B5.

"Have you?" Logan said.

"That it would come to pass?" Charles glanced at Logan then turned to the board.

Charles moved a pawn to A4. He sucked in his lips and smiled the best he could.

"I suppose not…" Charles said.

Logan gently nodded.

He moved his queen to E5.

He took a deep breath.

"… It ain't gonna be a walk in the park hittin' Exodus with those nanites. He gets wind of what we're doing and it's over," Logan said.

"We'll need a diversion. A focused psychic attack in conjunction with a concerted, frontal assault should serve to distract him," Charles said.

"That outta leave an opening for someone to sneak in and hit him with a nanite dart. It's gonna have ta be a short range shot. Kinda like what we tried against Phoenix. Too far away and he'll have time to teleport, even if we do somehow manage ta take him by surprise," Logan said.

"But who to do it?" Charles said.

Charles moved his knight to C3.

"Exodus will be expecting you, Psylocke, Henry, Rogue, Peter, and Kurt at close range. You will all have to be part of the diversionary strike. He will be on guard for anything the six of you do at close range," Charles said.

"It'd have to be Gumbo or Worthington. Maybe Kitty. I hate the idea of leaving somethin' so important to the Cajun. But they're the only ones that can slip behind him," Logan said.

"All three should be adequate. Jean, Emma, and I will launch a concentrated psychic attack while the close range X-Men attack with support from the ranged X-Men," Charles said.

"You sure you don't need Bets to help with the psychic attack? Yer gonna be at half strength," Logan said.

"I do not follow," Charles said.

"Ain't whoever's been in yer head all night gonna still be there in the mornin'," Logan said.

Charles blinked. His face went flush.

"… You know…?" Charles mumbled.

"Relax, Charlie. It ain't fer me to know. Just to understand. Trust me. When I was in Department H, someone was always yammerin' in my earpiece. I know the look. Cyke's got the same thing goin' on," Logan said.

"He does?" Charles said.

"Like father, like so-AAAARGGHH" Logan shouted.

The mansion violently shook. Logan and Charles toppled out of their chairs onto the floor.

"Logan!" Charles yelled.

The windows shattered. Rain poured into the study.

"What's happening!" Wolverine snarled.

The ground bucked and quaked. Tremors rattled the walls. Pictures smashed to the floor. Screams and cries echoed throughout the school.

The entire Mansion rose like a weed yanked from the dirt and ascended into the sky.

 _X-Men! Prepare for battle!_ Charles telepathically shouted to all sixteen X-Men.


	28. Chapter 28

**Blackbird; Westchester, New York**

The Blackbird cut across the sky. Rain rolled off its steel skin like a cold sweat.

Bishop wiped his balmy forehead. The jet wasn't the only shaky one.

He clutched the pilot controls. His calloused fingers rubbed against the leather. Their low, crinkly sounds were the radio. And his only companion.

Elizabeth nursed her wounds in the back of the jet. Jubilee had taken a nap. Kid earned it. She was young enough to still sleep off her troubles. Or at least still young enough to believe she could.

Bishop knew he should be doing the same.

The autopilot could easily guide them home. Probably better than Bishop could. The Mansion was only thirty miles away. But he hadn't moved from his chair since they dropped Nima and Asmara off with the New Orleans police.

And Bishop's aching body needed rest. He had a splitting headache. There was a tennis ball sized welt on the back of his head where Asmara clocked him. She really laid into him.

He was too tender to even use his headrest. Every time his neck grazed it he would snap back to attention and wince. Pain kept him awake.

Kept him sane.

He hunched over the controls the whole flight. He looked like an old rummy slouching over the bar. Swollen, bloodshot eyes. Teetering between half-awake and half-asleep.

Except pain was Bishop's bottle.

The painful joy of proving to himself how much he could tolerate. A voice inside himself that always asked, 'how much can you take?' It was a faint, whisper of a voice. Sometimes it sounded like grandma. Sometimes his own voice.

He'd been forced to endure so much in his short, long life.

Omega Squad…

Shard…

Pain was almost a game. A test he couldn't fail but never passed. A test of strength. Of will. No matter the price.

He prided himself on it. He depended on it. A tolerance for an addiction that one day would most likely kill him.

The Blackbird approached Westchester and neared the Mansion.

Or where the Mansion should be.

Bishop sat up. His jaw went the other way.

Crackles of purple energy coursed over the Mansion like engorged veins. The Mansion levitated out of the ground. Pipes burst and dangled. Wires sparked and whipped like tentacles beneath the floating foundation.

Acres upon acres of brick and wood rocketed hundreds of feet past the Blackbird into the dark heavens.

"Elizabeth! Jubilation!" Bishop said.

He jerked the controls. The Blackbird raced after the Mansion.

The torrential downpour strengthened each mile up. The windshield bowed and flexed from the barrage of wind and hail crashing against the glass.

Could barely even make out a silhouette of the Mansion.

No sign of Exodus…

Or the X-Men.

Jubilee and Psylocke staggered into the cockpit. Jubilee rubbed her eyes. Psylocke iced her left shoulder.

"B!" Jubilee leaned against the back of Bishop's chair.

"You two alright?!" Bishop looked up and down his teammates.

"So far…" Psylocke said.

"What about them!" Jubilee pointed at the Mansion floating in the clouds.

 _X-Men! Prepare for battle!_ The Professor telepathically shouted.

Bishop took a deep breath.

"… This is it," he said.

"This is what?! It's only been six days! Lying scuzz bag said seven days!" Jubilee said.

Her breathing was choppy. Faint. Her face flush.

"And you're surprised?" Psylocke tossed her icepack.

"Of cour-… I mean… I don't know… What do we do, B?" Jubilee paced behind Bishop.

Twenty feet above the Mansion was a sphere of light. A blinding orb of purple energy.

Bishop squinted. It was like staring at a stadium light.

Exodus.

Had to be.

Sweat poured from Bishop's face like liquid confessions.

Cyclops and Ororo were right. They were always right. Helping with the relief effort was a waste. Who did they save? What was the damn point? Psylocke's got a bum shoulder. And he was weak and lightheaded.

God knows what was happening inside the Mansion. The other X-men could be incapacitated. Dead.

And now they were thrust into the most uncertain battle of their lives.

Why was he so…

No.

Bishop squeezed the controls.

No time for second guessing.

"What are we going to do…?" Bishop never took his eyes off Exodus.

The Blackbird accelerated toward the Mansion in the sky. He reached his right hand over to the weapons controls.

"… What we have to," Bishop said.

 _That is quite far enough, Lucas Bishop,_ Exodus telepathically said.

"You! Show yourself!" Bishop shouted.

 _I prefer not to do this, but I cannot risk your weapons accidently harming the others, or this Temple,_ Exodus telepathically said.

A wave of transparent, purple energy swept over the Blackbird.

"Ohmigod!" Jubilee cringed.

The cockpit lit up in a paisley purple flash.

The walls trembled. The floor shook. The violent quakes leveled Jubilee and Psylocke. Bishop desperately clung to the controls.

"Everyone grab onto something!" Bishop shouted.

"E-E-Easier s-s-s-said than d-d-done!" Jubilee stumbled on the ground.

"Take my hand!" Psylocke reached for Jubilee.

In an instant, the metallic shell of the Blackbird shattered like glass. Thousands of pieces of steel ripped from the jet's inner tubing and tumbled to the Earth in a black rain.

Bishop, Psylocke, and Jubilee plummeted.

"AAAAAAHHH!" Jubilee screamed, still clutching Betsy's hand.

"NO!" Bishop cried out.

 **Danger Room, Subbasement**

The ceiling buckled. Hairline fractures stretched over the shiny, steel finish until they were thigh-sized cracks.

 _X-Men, prepare for battle!_ The Professor telepathically shouted.

"Oh dear," Hank said. 

The walls compressed. The metallic floors rumbled and hissed like the bowels of a dying Brood.

"Anyone for Doomsday?" Bobby said.

He fashioned an ice slide.

"Hop on, Blue boy!" Bobby said.

"I would not be averse to the help!" Hank leapt onto the ice slide behind Bobby.

"Praise be to insulated fur," Hank said.

A chunk of ceiling dropped and smashed to the floor where Beast was standing.

"Praise be to getting the hell out of here!" Bobby said.

"Indubitably!" Hank said.

Bobby weaved the ice slide in and out of the collapsing ceiling, angling his body weight side to side like a brilliant ice skier toward the Danger Room exit.

"We… we really need to file a noise complaint with the neighbors! This is ridiculous!" Bobby said.

"City life, I suppose!" Hank said.

Steel beams dropped like bombs in front of Hank and Bobby.

"Oh, crap! Think fast, Hank!" Bobby split the ice slide in two around the fallen debris.

Bobby made a sharp left.

Hank's ice slide cut right.

"Robert!" Hank wobbled like a bobblehead on his ice slide.

He flailed his tree trunk arms like kite strings to balance himself on the slippery slide. Anyone else would have been flung right off and broken an ankle. Or worse. But Hank's mutant dexterity enabled him to settle his footing.

His pounding heart?

Not so much.

"Ha! You're gettin' it, Hank!" Bobby yelled.

Hank narrowly evaded the steel struts. He curled around them to the right while Bobby did the same to the left. The two ice slides merged back into one and darted through the exit.

"Do that again, Drake. And perish," Hank said.

"Do what…?" Bobby grinned.

He split the ice slide in a V shape down the subbasement corridor with Bobby to the left and Hank drifting right.

"Sweet Hemmingway!" Hank yelled.

"Just kidding, just kidding!" Bobby laughed.

He blended the two ice slides back into one and headed for the emergency staircase.

"Couldn't resist!" Bobby said.

"I-!" Hank said.

 _Henry! You must retrieve the nanite syringes from your lab and bring them to the roof! It is imperative! We will make our stand until you arrive!_ The Professor telepathically said.

"Professor! How are the others?!" Hank shouted.

 _Alive. That's all that matters for now. Exodus has levitated the Mansion into the sky. Robert will have to transport you up here. You must hurry before the subbasement collapses onto itself!_ The Professor telepathically said.

"What'd the Prof say?" Bobby glanced back at Hank.

"Head for my lab!" Hank said.

"You crazy?! This place's falling faster than Jubes' acting career!" Bobby said.

"I am aware! That's why it would be prudent if we hurried!" Hank said.

The emergency staircase exit was in sight.

Bobby took a deep breath.

"If I told myself to go back, I wouldn't listen. But for you, Blue boy…" Bobby made a sudden U-turn, "… what the hell!"

"Attaboy!" Hank said.

Bobby whipped the ice slide back through the subbasement. He edged right. Beast's lab was at the end of the corridor. The long, convulsing corridor.

Support beams and struts smacked the floor. The fluorescent lights faded in and out. Sparks shot from the walls. The pungent, nostril-curling stink of chemical fire grew stronger the closer they came to Beast's lab.

Not good.

Hank's heart skipped a beat.

Bobby gritted his teeth and arched his back.

"Hold on, Hank! Time to gleam the cube!" Bobby said.

The ice slide shot down the corridor. Bobbing and dodging debris like a champion boxer until they reached the entry way to Hank's lab.

Hank jumped off the ice slide.

"Made it…" Hank slid the door open, "… With any luck they should still be on my…!"

A violent tremor rocked Beast's lab.

Hank stumbled. Steel debris caved-in the entryway and blocked off Bobby on the outside.

"Hank!" Bobby yelled.

Hank rolled into the lab to avoid the rubble. But the edge of a falling vent cover pierced the crown of Hank's head.

"UUURGH!" Hank spilled to his knees.

Blood rushed from his forehead and dribbled on the floor like a faucet. The sopping, blue fur on his face turned a sickly violet.

"HANK!" Bobby shouted.

 **Mansion, Xavier's Study**

The windows shattered. Fractured glass rained down on Wolverine and the Professor like shrapnel. Wolverine smothered the Professor like a grenade. The wet, jagged shards of glass flayed Wolverine's flannel shirt and scraped against his Adamantium spine.

"Logan!" The Professor said from underneath Wolverine.

"Urgh… D-Don't worry about me, Chuck, just returnin' the favor is all." Wolverine grimaced.

Rain and sleet poured into the study from the shattered windows. Icy water pooled around Charles. He crawled from under Wolverine. Chunks of glass decorated Logan's upper back like bloody rhinestones.

"Your back…" Charles brushed off scrawls of glass from Logan's back.

"… Will… argh… heal…" Wolverine staggered to his feet, "… C'mon!"

He scooped up the Professor and draped him over his shoulders.

"Like our strategy, we're goin' out the window!" Logan said.

He lumbered to the broken windows with Charles on his back. The Mansion swayed and trembled as it was pulled from the Earth. It rose ten feet. Twenty. Forty. Swirls of purple psionic energy crisscrossed the Mansion.

 _X-Men! Rendezvous on the roof! Exodus must be defeated! No matter the cost to us!_ The Professor telepathically said.

"Well alright then," Logan said.

Snikt!

Six Adamantium claws popped from Wolverine's knuckles. He climbed onto the window ledge. The estate lawn looked like a small patch of green cloth from a hundred feet up.

"Bet ya never did this in Korea!" Logan grinned.

He leapt in the air and sunk his claws into the brick siding above the window arch.

"You'd be surprised," Charles said.

Wolverine scaled the side of the Mansion with his claws as pickaxes. The air thinned. Wind and rain smacked him in the face like a scorned lover. He sneered at the all too familiar feeling.

"Why'd ya have to go and put so many flamin' stories on this dump?" Logan said halfway to the roof.

"When we rebuild, I will let you be foreman," Charles said.

"I'll hold ya to that, Charlie boy," Logan said.

They approached the roof. He yanked his left claws from the brick siding into the sloping shingles on the roof.

His claws ripped through the first shingle. The ledge of the roof gave way and crumbled around his fist.

"Argh!" Wolverine snarled.

He and Charles dangled two hundred feet in the air suspended by Wolverine's right claws. Bits of the ledge tumbled back to Earth and disappeared in the clouds. 

"Logan!" Charles said.

Their bodies twirled in the fierce wind and slapped against the side of the Mansion.

"Aaagh!" Charles grunted.

His grip slipped from Logan's shoulders.

"Professor!" Logan shouted.

He reached down with his left hand and caught Charles's left wrist. The Professor's weight dragged Wolverine's right claws six inches down. The sudden stop almost wrenched Charles' shoulder from its socket.

"Unggh… My shoulder… I can't feel my arm…" Charles said.

His head drooped.

"Stay with me, Chuck…!" Logan yelled.

Rain struck down his wrinkled cheeks like water down a canal.

"Argh… This's why ya do all them flamin' pullups! C'mon!" Wolverine barked.

Wolverine's right claws slid down another six inches.

"… You don't get to check out on me yet! Them kids up there still need ya a little longer!" Wolverine cried.

Charles shook his head. Defiantly. Sweat and rain shot off his face like a sprinkler.

"Uuuungghhh…!" Charles reached out his trembling right hand.

He grabbed Wolverine's left elbow. He curled his arm around it.

Wolverine's right claw slid another two inches.

"Pull yerself up!" Logan yelled.

Charles' arm tightened. He flexed his bicep. Pecs. The veins in his neck and forehead were the size of tuning forks.

"GRAAAGHHH!" Charles grunted.

He pulled himself up Logan's arm like a rope climb. Logan helped haul him up by his wrist and Charles swung his limp arms around Logan's shoulders.

"Got ya!" Wolverine said.

His right claws slipped out of the crumbling brick.

"Argh!" Wolverine growled.

He quickly jammed his left claws into the side of the Mansion. Then the right claws. And he climbed up the side of the Mansion until he was just under the ledge of the roof.

He jammed his left claws deep into the top of the roof and dragged himself over the edge. He and Charles collapsed onto the roof. Panting. Drenched.

"… J-Just like Korea, eh?" Logan grinned.

"… M-More or less," Charles said.

The other X-Men gathered on the rooftop like ants scurrying to the top of an anthill.

Jean telekinetically lifted Cyclops and Gambit. Shadowcat phased through the roof with Colossus. Nightcrawler and Storm burst onto the roof in a plume of brimstone. Archangel circled overhead. Rogue carried the White Queen.

Charles' eyes fluttered.

Five missing.

God…

"Professor!" Jean darted over to Charles and Logan.

The rest followed.

Emma rolled her eyes.

"Bloody world is coming to an end, and we're still playing teacher's pet," Emma mumbled.

Charles rolled onto his stomach and turned to Jean.

"… I am safe, child. Thank Logan for that," Charles said.

"Thank me when mullet boy's hangin' at the end of these." Wolverine clanked his claws together.

"Where is Lucas? Jubilation? Elizabeth?" Charles said.

Cyclops stepped forward.

"We received word from Bishop they were just outside New York. They should be approaching any minute now," Cyclops said.

"Good. We'll need them," Archangel said.

"Dey bringin' de National Guard wit' dem, mon ami?" Gambit muttered.

"And what of Henry and Robert? Are they in danger?" Storm said.

"Da. They could be trapped," Colossus said.

"Henry and Robert are in the lab retrieving Shaw's nanite syringes," Charles said.

"Ack! Zey're still underground?!" Nightcrawler said.

Kitty's eyes bulged. She looked up at Archangel.

"Hey, Wings! Fly me down there and I can phase them out! They must be caved-in by now!" Kitty said.

"Negative. We must trust in Henry and Robert's abilities. They realize what is at stake. And so must we," Charles said.

"Then how do we go about stoppin' this dern ride?" Rogue said.

"You do not…" Exodus said.

A tense hush fell over the X-Men.

The Mansion rose above the clouds. Above the artificial rain.

The eddies of purple energy whirling around the Mansion coalesced into one brilliant sphere of light thirty feet above the Mansion roof.

Charles shut his eyes. The scorching light was like a branding iron on his retinas.

Exodus emerged from the ball of light like a transparent doorway. He adorned the sky blue heavens above the clouds. His purple and white cape flapped gently in the calm breeze.

"… You merely rejoice. Your home is my Temple. And here, my Chosen People, I fulfill my covenant. I will be for you what you should never have to be. Your dream is for a new world. A better one. And to allow you to create it, I, and I alone, must destroy the old one," Exodus said.


	29. Chapter 29

**Mansion Rooftop**

Exodus hovered overhead.

"Rejoice, my chosen ones. This is _their_ last day…" Exodus scowled at the Earth below, "… Not yours."

Rain dropped like bombs around the floating Mansion and splashed onto the flooded Earth. A muggy mist wrapped around the rooftop like a spider web.

 _Exodus must be defeated at all cost! We must make our stand until Robert and Henry arrive!_ The Professor telepathically shouted to every X-Man.

"Then ah reckon we better show this ol' boy a good time!" Rogue said.

Rogue, Archangel, and Jean shot into the sky like missiles.

Colossus' skin transmuted into organic steel. Shadowcat unsheathed dual katanas.

"Fuzzy elf!" Kitty tossed one to Nightcrawler.

"Danke, Fraulein!" Nightcrawler caught the sword in his prehensile tail.

Wolverine hunched over in battle stance and growled through his teeth. Storm and Emma remained at the Professor's side. Emma encased in diamond.

Storm, doubt.

Gambit kinetically charged three Aces and glanced up at Jean.

"Dis be a good time for dat Phoenix t'ing you do, n'es pas?" Gambit said.

"Tell me about it," Jean said.

Cyclops' visor glowed red in the haze like a train out a tunnel. A steaming, smoldering train ready to plough through everything in its path.

"You going to come down and face us, _god…_?" Cyclops marched toward Exodus.

Bamf!

Nightcrawler teleported beside Cyclops and grabbed his arm.

"Careful, Scott! He is more zan he seems! Believe me!" Nightcrawler said.

Cyclops pulled away from Kurt and stepped forward until he was draped in Exodus' shadow.

"… Or do I have to come knock you off your cloud!" Cyclops pressed his visor.

Exodus cocked an eyebrow.

A delicate breeze brushed over him. His black hair weaved over his shoulders like silk.

"I am aware you will try. I have made my peace with that. It is your nature to reject any progress that is not your doing. Even if it is in your best interest," Exodus said.

"Mass murder, Tovarisch, is not progress!" Colossus seethed.

"Isn't it?" Exodus said.

He descended. Slowly. Like a floating, Autumn leaf.

"The X-Men have killed for the greater good. As must I," Exodus said.

"X-Men do not drown people in zeir sleep! X-Men do not flood schools and hospitals filled with infants and ze infirm! Yes, I confess… we have been forced to take lives in the past, but only, _only_ when zere was no other alternative!" Nightcrawler said.

"As must _I_ ," Exodus said.

"You are beholden to nothing in this life, son. None of us are. I sense sincerity in your yearning for change. Perhaps more so a fear to not squander your gifts. You are lost. Confused," The Professor said.

Exodus snapped his head at Charles.

"I am everywhere. And everything. Child. I wander not." Exodus glared at Charles.

"Then surely you know this is not the way! You must see that! It is not too late!" The Professor said.

"I _am_ the way. We all have our crosses to bear. You are farmers of civilization. Tillers of the seed. I am the sun. I am the rain," Exodus said.

Purple energy crackled from his eyes.

Storm cut in front of the Professor.

"Do not even consider harming this man or you shall answer to me!" Storm said.

"Ororo…!" The Professor said.

"I do no more harm, child, than the shepherd does corralling his flock. But I understand. You seek your dream on your terms, alone. I accept that. And you are forgiven," Exodus said.

"You forgive us?! The arrogance! Do you honestly think you know us at all?" Archangel flexed his metallic wings.

"Our dream isn't some arbitrary destination! How we get there is every bit as important!" Jean said.

Her heart raced.

"… How we get there IS our dream! If we have to be you to get it then… then to hell with it!" Jean said.

Emma stared at Jean. She didn't have a Phoenix raptor around her. But there was fire in Jean Grey's eyes that could melt diamond.

"That, child, is why I am here. So you do not have to be me…" Exodus touched down on the rooftop.

"… I will take the hard choice away from you. That is your real dream. To not _have_ to choose. All the consternation and infighting among you… Among the human race… It is because you have a choice," Exodus said.

Gambit leaned over to Storm.

"It be Gambit's real dream to get outta dis one alive," Gambit whispered.

Storm rolled her eyes.

"This is not the time, Gambit," she whispered.

"The world will be what it will be in twenty-four hours…" Exodus said, "… Whether you want it or not. And you will hate me. You will curse my name and scour the Earth to destroy me.

But you will not find me.

And eventually, a sense of satisfaction will creep in. A relief that it's not _your_ fault the world is the way it is.

It's just the way god made it.

And you will start to rebuild. Free of any culture and history but your own. Free of conflicting ideals and points of view. Let the sinners sink to the bottom of this flood, buried with their sins. This new world we create will be a utopia in your image. Your dream come to life…"

"You ever stop and listen to all the junk coming out your mouth?!" Shadowcat roared, "No one ever said anything about, utopia this or utopia that! Who? Who said that? Show me! Right now! Cuz we sure as heck didn't! That's not what we're about! Maybe, just maybe, not everyone is psycho enough to wanna create their own world! You ever think of that?! All we wanna do is just make the old one a little better, creep!"

Cyclops nodded.

"He's not psycho, Shadowcat. Just scared…" Cyclops turned to Exodus and stared into his burning, white eyes, "You say you're god? I see it in your eyes… you want so badly for us to believe it. But I hear it in your voice. Every time you reaffirm that you're above the rest of us.

YOU'RE the one looking for someone to follow! Something to believe in!" Cyclops fired an optic blast at Exodus.

"Here go!" Gambit reached for the deck of cards in his breast pocket.

The beam sizzled in the air.

Exodus teleported.

"Verdammt!" Nightcrawler clenched his sword.

"I do not fault you your nature…" Exodus instantly appeared behind Cyclops.

Scott turned.

Exodus grabbed his shoulder.

"Scott!" Jean screamed.

Purple energy surged through Exodus' arm and electrocuted Cyclops. Purple volts shot from Cyclops' smoked flesh.

"AARGH!" Cyclops shouted.

The impact launched Cyclops clear across the rooftop.

"… Do not fault me, mine," Exodus said.

Rogue chased after Cyclops like a flyball.

"Got ya, sugah!" Rogue snagged his hand before he sailed over the rooftop edge.

Rogue gazed into the horizon. And smiled.

"We'll ah'll be…" Rogue said.

The Blackbird approached. Weapons armed. Speeding toward the Mansion in the sky like a kamikaze.

"… Bout time tha cavalry showed up!" Rogue said.

Exodus faced the Blackbird.

Bamf!

Nightcrawler burst from a plume of brimstone and sulfur behind Exodus. He crisscrossed his legs around Exodus' throat and squeezed like piano wire.

"Turnabout is fair play, Mein Herr!" Nightcrawler said.

His quads trembled. His eyes bulged. It was like squishing a coconut with his thighs. But he would not allow Exodus a breath.

"Now! Aim for his base!" Archangel yelled.

He unloaded an armada of razor sharp wingtips at Exodus's legs.

"Right wit' you, homme," Gambit fired three kinetic cards at Exodus' lower body.

The bladed wingtips howled through the air and mixed with the trio of kinetic cards, rippling with energy.

 _Jean! Emma! Exodus is distracted, concentrate a psychic attack with me now!_ The Professor telepathically shouted.

Storm guarded the Professor. With or without the full range of her powers, she would defend that man to the death.

Jean and Emma shut their eyes. The Professor held his temples. The three telepaths psionically assaulted Exodus' mind.

A screeching, telepathic backlash frazzled Jean, Emma, and the Professor like a blown fuse.

"AAARGHHAAA!" The Professor cried.

"Professor!" Storm knelt beside his convulsing body.

Jean and Emma collapsed beside them. 

Exodus summoned an energy shield of crescent purple energy. Archangel and Gambit's attack smashed into the energy shield like grenades against a mountain.

"Mein gott!" Nightcrawler gasped.

He drew his sword and aimed between Exodus' eyes.

Kurt inhaled.

"Forgive me, Father…" Kurt said under his breath.

He stabbed down with his sword.

Exodus reached over his shoulder and snatched Nightcrawler by the throat before the tip of the blade scratched Exodus' nose. His gangly fingers were like alligator teeth tearing through meat.

"… Ggguhll…" Nightcrawler gurgled.

"I take no pleasure in this, Man of Faith…" Exodus said.

"Let 'im go!" Shadowcat shouted.

Shadowcat, Wolverine, and Colossus charged at Exodus.

"The Ruskie and I'll flank 'im, you phase through his shield, pum'kin!" Wolverine barked.

"On it!" Kitty sprinted toward Exodus.

Wolverine and Colossus split to the right and left of Exodus.

"Let us go greet our guest, comrade!" Colossus pounded his fists together.

"I got the welcome wagon right here!" Wolverine said.

Exodus smiled.

"Your valor against insurmountable odds has been nothing short of extraordinary, X-Men. It validates everything I have done. I see now, in this fog and rain, with perfect clarity that I made the right choice… Thank you," Exodus said.

He waved his hand. His energy shield shot forward.

"Mon Dieu!" Gambit rolled out the way.

"Whoa!" Shadowcat phased through the energy field.

Archangel floated over.

"You're slower than they said you'd be, Exodus." Archangel grinned.

Exodus' chin tightened.

"… As are you." Exodus said.

The crescent energy swept toward Rogue.

"Can't a girl catch her dang breath anymore?" Rogue grabbed Cyclops and narrowly dashed out the way.

"Thank me latah, sugah…" she patted Cyclops' groggy head.

She whipped her head back around. The Blackbird jetted straight for the energy wave.

"Oh God!" Rogue's face went flush.

The energy wave struck the Blackbird like a bolt of lightning. The black jet flashed a searing shade of purple.

Exodus glared at Archangel in the sky.

"Of all my Chosen People, my only disappointments are you, Angel of Death, and, you, Man of Faith…" Exodus glanced at Nightcrawler suffocating in his grip.

"… You two should be my herald and prophet. You have shown the greatest capacity for faith and servitude. One, to my once master, Apocalypse. And the other, to the Hebrew Messiah. Yet it is I who transcends both," Exodus said.

"He may have been your master, but not mine!" Archangel seethed.

A dozen, metallic feather tips homed in on Exodus.

"You are slow to accept the world for what it is…" Exodus teleported through the feather tips, then rematerialized, "… But I am a patient god."

Wolverine lunged at Exodus' right side. Colossus, the left.

"GGGRAAAAGGHHH!" Wolverine snarled.

Exodus threw Nightcrawler at Wolverine like a javelin.

"Crawler…!" Wolverine retracted his claws as Nightcrawler smashed into him, face first.

"AAACK!" Nighcrawler screamed.

Colossus wound back his fist. One punch to the side of Exodus' face would knock his head clean off his shoulders.

"Dos Vedanya," Colossus threw a haymaker.

Exodus teleported forty-five degrees above Colossus before contact and bashed his knee into the back of Colossus' neck. The Russian X-Man dropped face first.

The Blackbird glowed purple and grey. Energy spiraled around the jet like DNA helixes. The right and left wing snapped off. The windshield cracked. The metal skeleton shattered around the Blackbird's inner tubing and crumbled like dead leaves in the wind.

Bishop, Psylocke, and Jubilee plunged like concrete out the sky.

"AAAAAAGGHHH!" Jubilee screeched.

"Warren!" Rogue yelled.

She bulleted after her falling friends with Archangel fast behind her.

Exodus blasted Archangel and Rogue in the back with twin energy blasts. Archangel crashed from the sky onto the roof.

"Ungh!" Archangel grunted.

The blast knocked Rogue unconscious. She tumbled out of the sky along with Bishop, Psylocke, and Jubilee.

Exodus glided over Archangel.

Take solace that you will all awaken to your dream," Exodus said.

 **Beast's Lab**

"Hank!" Iceman pounded the steel door into Beast's Lab.

Still no answer.

The electronic sensor was dead. Mounds of debris and steel barricaded the door shut from the other side.

Bobby pressed his ear to the door. Hank's faint, wispy inhales and labored exhales hid among the tinny chatter of test tubes clanging and steel bending. Aching. Like the heart of a best friend listening for any sign of life.

"HAAAANK!" Iceman shouted.

He stepped back from the door.

"Get clear, Hank! I'm gonna shatter the door!" Iceman yelled.

"… I… *cough cough* I'm pinned…" Hank said from behind the door.

"What do I do…?" Iceman nervously ran his fingers over his icy head.

The walls cracked and constricted. Support beams protruded from the sinking ceiling. Struts bent and wheezed. The violent tremors crushed the subbasement like an empty coke can.

"Think, Bobby… think!" Iceman said.

He stared at the shut door. Waiting for it to magically open and tell him what to do.

"… Do it, Robert! You must get in… get the nanites… It is… *cough cough* imperative!" Beast said.

"I know… I know…" Iceman said.

His short, frozen breaths were like a fog around his lips.

Emma'd know what to do.

She was a better Iceman than Bobby Drake. She'd melt into a puddle. Slide under the door. Rescue Hank. And make Bobby look like a goof before she could say 'dear.'

After all this time, why hadn't he just asked Emma for help?

Because he knew she'd make him feel about as tall as her stiletto heel.

But who cared? Why did asking for help terrify him so much?

Iceman hardened his brow. He froze the door and the rest of the wall around it in a sheet of reflective ice.

His blue eyes stared back at him.

Iceman loved to make people laugh.

But Robert Drake?

His greatest fear was everyone laughing at him.

He knew he was a screw up. He knew he was the underachiever. Everyone did.

But it was his choice…

Iceman conjured a hammer from ice the size of a Smart Car.

… Always his choice.

The second he got serious. The second he asked Emma for help, then failure was no longer _his_ decision.

It was a possibility.

A probability.

What if he tried his best and couldn't do it? How would that look? Poor Bobby, gave it his all and still, _still_ couldn't use his powers as well as Emma. Poor thing. Awww. Poor Bobby. Little Iceman. He really _was_ what the others all assumed him to be. He really wasn't as good as Scott, Jean, Warren, and Hank…

He'd lived his whole life under a thin veil of mystery. Maybe he could be as good as them.

If he tried.

But if he did. And failed. There'd be no uncertainty. No doubt. They'd know he was just weak.

Dad would be right.

"I'm coming in! Cover your head!" Iceman said.

He arched back and swung his ice hammer. The ice encased door shattered like a chandelier. Thousands of frozen shards shot like shrapnel across the lab. Piercing test tubes and flesh alike.

"AAAAARRRGHH!" Hank wailed.

Fragments of ice ricocheted from the walls and sliced Beast's shoulders and arms. One piece lodged in his left knee like a frozen dagger.

"Hank!" Iceman burrowed through the demolished door into the lab.

He dashed beside Hank lying on the cold, steel floor. Warmed only by his fresh blood.

"God, I'm such an idiot… Hank… Hank!" Iceman gently lifted Hank's head off the ground.

Beast's eyes fluttered.

"… On-…Only a flesh wound, Robert…" Hank smirked.

"Damn it, Hank…" Iceman shook his head, "… Leave the Python to me. What's say we get outta here?"

"… The nanites… there are five syringes on my desk…" Beast struggled to sit up.

Iceman scrambled over to Beast's desk. Ice fragments had smashed his laptop and tablet screens. Papers and folders were scattered over the floor.

"I don't see them!" Iceman said.

He dropped to his knees and scoured the floor. He tossed papers. Pushed the desk.

"I am not one to hurry, but making haste would be advisable!" Beast said.

"I'm trying! I'm trying!" Iceman said.

He didn't think it was possible to sweat under an inch of ice, but Bobby felt like he was melting.

He crawled to the corner of the room behind Beast's desk. A pile of syringes clinked together as the room compressed and shuddered.

"Got 'em!" Iceman scooped them off the floor and made a beeline for Hank.

Iceman handed him the syringes.

"Now let's roll!" Iceman fashioned an ice slide.

"Oh dear…" Beast sat up and inspected the syringes.

His jaw creaked open.

"What?" Iceman said, "… We can dust them off on the way."

"It's far worse than an OSHA concern…" Beast gulped.

Three of the five syringes were fractured with only two left intact.

Beast shut his eyes. He couldn't help but laugh.

"Ah… never easy, is it?" Beast chuckled.

He showed Iceman the three cracked syringes then discarded them to the floor.

Iceman shrugged his shoulders.

"Nope…" Iceman chuckled, "Can you walk?"

Beast gazed at the shard of ice stabbing the side of his knee then rolled his eyes at Bobby.

"I don't believe so, doctor," Beast said.

Iceman formed an ice cast around Beast's leg from the knee down.

"Voila! Thank God for insulated fur, right?" Iceman helped ease Beast onto the ice slide.

"This again?" Beast said.

"Yup," Iceman said.

"Good… for a moment I was afraid I wouldn't get to have ten heart attacks during our latest last stand…" Hank said.

"The universe wouldn't let you down, Beastie boy," Iceman said.

"Comforting to know," Beast said.

"Something tells me the best way out, is up!" Iceman said.

"Heaven help us," Beast said.

Iceman blanketed the crumbling remains of the ceiling in ice. He customized the front of his ice slide with an ice battering ram.

"'Member when we used to check out the Carnival after class on Fridays and do bumper cars?" Iceman said.

"Unfortunately. I remember you used to always love ramm-… Oh no…!" Beast said.

Iceman charged the ice slide at the ceiling and smashed through the thin partition of ice.

"WOOOHOOO!" Iceman yelled.

"ROBERT!" Beast screamed.

Iceman and Beast shot into the sky like a blue flare. Vicious rain swatted their faces.

"Hank…" Iceman pointed at the Mansion.

Their home. And it loomed about a hundred feet in the sky. And climbing.

"… Hurry, Robert," Beast said.

Iceman gritted his teeth and ascended faster. Westchester was buried underwater. New Yorkers sat on their rooftops with their toes dipped in water, gazing at the unforgiving, black sky. Helicopters circled.

And one jet loomed over head.

"The Blackbird!" Iceman smiled.

A wall of purple energy swept from the top of the Mansion toward the Blackbird. A brilliant flash of purple light exploded from the Blackbird and tore the jet to pieces.

"The Blackbird!" Beast grimaced.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!" Jubilee screamed.

"Jubilation!" Beast said.

"Not good!" Iceman said.

He cut under the falling wreckage.

Beast squinted.

He could make out four figures amid the falling remnants of the Blackbird. A yellow jacket flapped wildly.

A streak of white hair.

A purple psiblade.

And someone built like a tank.

"I hope this works!" Iceman said.

"From your lips to God's ear!" Beast said.

Iceman poured out four, downward spiraling ice slides. Jubilee, Bishop, Psylocke, and Rogue each streaked down a slide faster than their screams could keep up.

"DRRRAAAAAKE!" Bishop hollered.

Iceman curved the end of the four ice slides upward.

"UUUUNNNHGGGH!" Iceman grunted.

The four X-Men's momentum carried them up the slide toward the Mansion.

"…AAALMOOOOOST THERE…" Iceman clenched his teeth.

His frozen body trembled. He and the four slides approached the Mansion rooftop. He could almost see over the edge of the roof.

He hobbled to a knee.

"Robert!" Beast shouted.

Iceman shook his head. He closed his fists.

"AAAAARGGGHH!" Iceman growled.

He thrust out his arms toward the Mansion and rocketed the four ice slides over the edge of the rooftop. Bishop, Jubilee, Psylocke, and Rogue all tumbled onto the rooftop.

Iceman collapsed and reverted to human form. His ice slide stopped mid motion six feet away from the Mansion.

"Robert! ROBERT!" Beast shouted.


	30. Chapter 30

**Mansion: Rooftop**

Beast grabbed Iceman under his burly left arm like a briefcase.

Six feet.

No problem.

Beast leapt off the disintegrating ice slide for the rooftop. His knee buckled.

He made it maybe four feet in the air and desperately stretched out his right hand. His fingertips snagged the edge of the rooftop.

"Gotcha, Mccoy!" Bishop quickly reached over and grabbed Beast's wrist.

"Take Robert!" Beast said.

"I have him," Psylocke leaned beside Bishop.

Beast winced in pain. He dragged his quivering arm over the ledge and passed Iceman's limp body to Psylocke. She hauled Iceman onto the rooftop.

"Ungh, made it…!" Psylocke rubbed her dangling shoulder.

"Now you!" Bishop said.

Beast curled his right foot up to the rooftop and pulled himself up with Bishop's help. He crawled over to Robert.

"You did it, Old Man!" Beast said to Iceman.

"Good show, Robert," Psylocke said.

Iceman laid flat on his back. His chest puffed up and down.

"N-No… w-worries…" Iceman said.

"That was way too close…!" Jubilee put her head between her legs, "… Even by our standards!"

"And it's only just begun…" Bishop checked on Rogue.

Her prone arms and legs spread out on the rooftop like a dead ant.

"How is she?" Psylocke said.

"Out…" Bishop monitored Rogue's weak pulse.

 _Henry! Were you successful in retrieving the nanites?_ The Professor telepathically said.

Beast sighed.

 _Three syringes were damaged beyond salvaging, Professor, we only managed to save two,_ Beast telepathically said.

 _Then we will make do,_ The Professor telepathically said.

Charles rubbed his throbbing forehead. The psionic static from Exodus fried his mind. His vision blurred. He wiped the blood trickling down his nose.

The psychic jolt had leveled Jean and Emma. Storm huddled beside them as they began to stir.

Gambit and Wolverine were the last X-Men on their feet. Toe to toe with Exodus.

"Stand back, Cajun, ya might learn som'thin." Wolverine marched toward Exodus.

"If you insis'." Gambit twirled his bo.

Exodus grinned at Wolverine.

"Imagine a world where your courage, my child, is the norm," Exodus said.

"Bub, I ain't been a child fer a loooong time," Wolverine said.

"Jus' when you lose at poker," Gambit mumbled.

Exodus took a step toward Wolverine.

"You wish to dismiss me. Dismiss all of this. Brush me off like your healing factor has so many cuts and scrapes. But my words run deeper than the deepest laceration. I, the Father, heard your prayer earlier. Do you deny your confession to Xavier?" Exodus said.

Wolverine tightened his fists.

"I ain't-…" Wolverine started.

"You act out of compulsion. Not reason…" Exodus interrupted, "… Both of you. And I applaud you for it. Reason is not compassionate. Reason is not loving. Reason is cold. Hard. Unyielding. I am beyond compulsion. I _am_ reason. And I recognize how painful reason can be. It is a terrible burden, godliness.

You are compelled to save others even when you admit how unreasonable it is. God listened when you told Xavier. Do not be ashamed, my child. You whispered it to Xavier. But it is not just you. All seventeen of you gathered today, in your way, have whispered it. You whisper because you have been conditioned to believe any doubts are an indictment, a condemnation of your dream.

But the truth is that your doubts are the ultimate affirmation of your dream. You recognize how doomed and pointless your mission is, yet you still are all willing to sacrifice yourselves for it. _That_ is faith. That is courage. That is the X-Men.

It is my purpose to ensure the rest of the world is the same," Exodus said.

"You change de world, Mon Ami, you so sure we all still be X-Men?" Gambit's long, wet red hair draped over his hypnotic eyes.

Exodus angled his head.

"… I do not see what you mean, child," Exodus said.

"What he means…" Cyclops staggered to his feet, "… _god,_ is that circumstance brought us together as much as the Professor's dream, but it's not what keeps us together…"

Cyclops limped toward Exodus.

"… You were wrong when you said we're ashamed of it. _I'm_ not afraid. Even…" Scott swallowed, "… Even if Magneto's way or Apocalypse or Sinister or Trask or Stryker or anyone else's way is right… If they're right and we all picked wrong… Even if me and the whole world knew the X-Men's dream is wrong, I'd _still_ be an X-Man! We're a family! And I'll die before I let you go through with this!" Cyclops said.

Wolverine stared at Cyclops. His mouth parted ever so slightly in awe.

Wolverine turned back to Exodus.

"Sounds like ya got a little bit o' the ol' conundrum. We won't stop until ya kill us, and you can't have yer little utopia without us bein' alive ta make it!" Wolverine grinned.

"Listen when your Father speaks, child. You are the ones in an unwinnable position. I can subdue all of you without killing any of you. But you can only stop me by killing me. And the lord cannot be destroyed," Exodus said.

"Let's find out!" Cyclops unleashed a furious optic blast.

Exodus teleported.

"Wolverine!" Cyclops said.

Wolverine pounced a foot behind Cyclops.

Exodus appeared at Cyclops' back, just as he anticipated. Wolverine's outstretched claws lunged at Exodus as he materialized.

Exodus whipped his head around. In a flash, he snatched Wolverine's wrists like trout out the sea.

"Very nice atte-AAARGH!" Exodus shouted.

Gambit landed three kinetic cards in Exodus' back. The explosion staggered Exodus. He dropped Wolverine.

"De name is Gambit. Remember it," Gambit said.

"… Extraordinary…" Exodus caught his breath.

He glared at Gambit. Purple and grey energy snaked around his fist.

Storm looked on. Sweat and rain struck down her cheeks.

"Professor, I must aid the others before it is too late!" Storm said.

"No, Ororo… your time will come." The Professor said.

He shut his eyes.

 _X-Men! Keep Exodus off balance! Do whatever you can! Katherine, Kurt, take the nanite syringes from Henry! You must inject him, any means necessary! This is our only chance! God speed, X-Men!_ The Professor telepathically shouted to his students.

Bamf!

Nightcrawler teleported to Beast and wobbled. His throat was covered in eggplant-purple bruises.

"… You ok, fuzzy elf?" Kitty said.

"… N-Never *cough* better," Kurt forced a suave smile, "… I'm with a beautiful woman on a grand adventure to save ze world! What more could a poor boy from Germany want!"

"An Advil?" Shadowcat said.

"Zat would be nice," Nightcrawler said.

Beast opened his furry mitt.

"… I trust you both have prescriptions for these…" Beast said.

"Ja… in my other tights." Nightcrawler grabbed a syringe.

"I called mine in." Shadowcat grabbed the other.

Exodus punched Wolverine with his energy charged fist. The hit burned through Wolverine's yellow and black suit and rifled him across the rooftop at Nightcrawler.

"Yikes!" Shadowcat said.

Nightcrawler rolled Wolverine's charred body onto his side.

"Having fun, Herr Logan?" Nightcrawler grinned.

"… Shut it, Elf." Wolverine held his ribs.

Cyclops fired an optic blast in sync with Gambit's kinetic cards. Exodus raised a crescent energy shield to block.

Charles crawled to Jean and Emma.

"Jean! Emma! Please! We must try again!" Charles said.

"… Ungh… there's too much psychic interference, Charles… it won't work." Emma rolled on her side.

"That's why I'm here," Psylocke rushed over to the Professor.

"Elizabeth! Excellent! Now, together! Hit him with everything we have!" The Professor said.

Jean rubbed her eyes.

"Then we'll do it without you!" Jean peeked at Emma then faced Charles and smirked, "besides, Betsy is a stronger telepath anyhow."

The White Queen turned red.

"On which Earth, dear? What are we waiting for, Charles?" Emma said.

"Hold nothing back!" The Professor said.

He fastened his eyes shut and held his temples. His skin was oily with perspiration.

In unison, Psylocke, Jean, Charles, and Emma blitzed Exodus with a powerful psychic assault. Their telepathic burst smashed into his psychic defenses like four Audis hitting a brick wall.

"AAAAAAAAGGHHH!" Charles, Jean, Psylocke, and Emma screeched.

Charles could smell blood. Taste it. His own. It felt like his skull was on fire and everything inside boiled to mush.

"You of all people should not be surprised, Xavier. You bore witness to a glimmer of my power on Genosha. It is nothing for your Father to suppress the elements, drown the Earth in psychokinetic rain, repel your students, and block your psychic attack." Exodus grinned.

"AAAEEEEEEEEAAAAHHHH!" Charles collapsed on the rooftop in a pool of rain.

Charles eyes shot open. His irises morphed from green to a chilling magenta.

 _Did you think I would let you off that easily, Charles?_ Onslaught telepathically said.

"Onslaught!" Charles said.

Jean glanced at the Professor.

 _I have far worse things planned for you than to simply die here, Charles,_ Onslaught telepathically said.

A maelstrom of psychic energy exploded out of Charles. It pierced Exodus' psychic defenses like cobwebs.

"UUUURGH!" Exodus dropped to a knee, "Impossible!"

"Now's our chance!" Cyclops yelled.

Wolverine stammered to his feet.

"Pete! Fastball special time!" Wolverine said.

"I thought you would never ask." Colossus rubbed the back of his neck and hoisted Wolverine on his shoulder.

"Make it a double!" Shadowcat hopped onto Wolverine's back.

"For you, comrade Exodus! My receipt for nearly executing Neophyte!" Colossus rocketed Wolverine, with Kitty on his back, at Exodus.

Exodus clasped his ears shut. Roiling in pain from Charles, Psylocke, Jean, and Emma's telepathic battery.

Wolverine howled through the air. His claws aimed directly at Exodus' heart.

Exodus turned toward Wolverine. He charged his fist.

"… Come to me, child!" Exodus readied to swing.

Bamf!

Nightcrawler teleported behind Exodus.

"Guttentag!" Nightcrawler said.

He stabbed the syringe at Exodus' neck. Exodus caught Nightcrawler's wrist and squeezed. The syringe bounced out Nightcrawler's hand.

"GGGRAAAAGGHHH!" Wolverine slashed at Exodus's chest and shredded his tunic.

Exodus throttled Wolverine in the face with his charged fist before Wolverine's claws could sink deeper.

The sudden impact drove Wolverine backwards. But Shadowcat phased through Wolverine and leapt at Exodus. She jammed the nanite syringe in the side of Exodus' neck.

"Yes!" Kitty yelled.

"AAARGH!" Exodus's body twisted and wrenched from the syringe lodged in his neck.

Blood gushed onto his clavicle and chest. He crumbled to his hands and knees.

The rain stopped. For the first time in seven days. The rain stopped.

"You did it, Katya!" Colossus twirled Kitty in the air.

Nightcrawler looked down at Exodus, huddled on the ground.

"A fitting end for ze man who wished to be god. Those nanites will ensure you live out ze rest of your days as one of u-AAARRGGHH!…" Nightcrawler said.

A devastating sphere of energy erupted from Exodus and decimated the Nightcrawler, Shadowcat, and Colossus. Their bodies careened in all directions over the rooftop as the sky cleared.

"No way!" Jubilee shouted.

"… Curious… The nanites should be suppressing his mutant powers…" Beast gazed with his mouth agape.

The Professor's pupils widened.

"He is… somehow he is destroying each X-gene suppressor on a nanoscopic level. But the process has weakened him!" The Professor said.

Exodus staggered to his feet. His body trembled. His skin grew pale and twitchy. But he rose. Surges of purple energy radiated off his body.

"… You are… trying my patience…" Exodus said.

"As you have, mine!" Storm roared from the rooftop and ascended into the sky.

Her eyes grew cloudy. Lightning sparkled off her fingertips. A powerful gale sifted through her hair. Her white locks spread like rays of the sun. The higher she ascended the more the elements bathed and replenished her powers.

"Dat's my Stormy!" Gambit said.

"You done it now!" Jubilee said.

Exodus took a glimpse at Storm. A goddess floating in the parted skies.

Wolverine crept behind Exodus.

Shlunk!

Wolverine carved his Adamantium claws into Exodus' back.

"UUUNGH!" Exodus coughed up blood.

"Been waitin' a whole week fer that, mullet boy!" Wolverine said.

Exodus' eyes burned.

He palmed Wolverine's skull and scorched his body with an energy inferno.

"GGGGRAAAAAHHHH!" Wolverine cried.

Exodus fired energy bolts that cut down Cyclops and Gambit in rapid succession.

Exodus' blood boiled. He compressed his side with his left hand to keep his intestines from spilling out. His chest pulsed up and down with each hate-filled breath.

"Do you have any idea how hard it is not to fight back?! Do you?!" Exodus fired beams from his eyes that floored Bishop and Jubilee.

"I could crush you all like insects! But I choose not to kill you! I choose to let you live because I believe in you! And this is how you repay me?!" Exodus spat out blood.

"I'm trying to help you! Can you even possibly imagine how badly it hurts to be attacked by those you're trying to save! Do you have any idea how that feels?! Do you!" Exodus shouted.

There wasn't any rain to muffle his words. And in the clear, quiet skies, his venomous words hung and echoed in his mind.

"…I…" Exodus surveyed the battered rooftop and the bloody X-Men strewn about it, "… I suppose you do…"

"Then know you have taken your first step to understanding the X-Men!" Storm summoned a tempest of lightning.

"I too have known the trappings of godliness! The power. The allure. And with them, a misguided sense of responsibility. In another life, perhaps it would be you telling me these things. You are not an evil man, Exodus. Merely a man like any other. Cursed with just enough power to destroy himself," Storm said.

She shaped the massive stores of lightning she had amassed into a blinding ball of white light and hurled it at Exodus.

Exodus fired back and met her lightning with a train-sized burst of energy.

"I will not fail you!" Exodus shouted.

"Ungh…!" Storm trembled.

His energy wave pushed Storm's attack back. Her arms shook. Her body spasmed.

Iceman hobbled over to Emma.

"Storm's still too weak, she needs more time to sync back with the elements…" Iceman said.

"I see that. Any other useful observations, dear," Emma said.

"Just one…" Bobby took the deepest breath of his life, "… I… If you can tap into my mind and convert my powers to raw elemental energy, maybe we can supercharge Storm!"

Emma faced Iceman. And blinked. Repeatedly.

"… You _want_ me to help you?" Emma said.

"Yeah, yeah, yuck it up later. This's the only way," Iceman said.

"No… I…" Emma's eyes softened, "… What kind of educator would I be if I made you feel bad for wanting to learn?"

"Bobby Drake's slow. What can I tell you?" Iceman said.

"Not at all. Takes quite a bit to ask." Emma said.

"Quite a bit of what?" Iceman said.

"Courage, dear." Emma entered Iceman's mind.

She possessed his body like a phantom and accessed the full gamut of his elemental powers.

"Storm!" Iceman called out.

He reached his hands out and raw, blue and white elemental energy poured from his fingertips. Storm's body absorbed the stream of energy like sunlight.

"What's he doing?" Jubilee said.

"Fascinating… Using Storm as a superconductor and converting his ice powers into elemental energy, I deduce he's manipulating energy on a molecular level.

"Whazzat now?" Jubilee said.

"It's not unlike your ability to manipulate matter on a subatomic level. In fact, theoretically, your powers could conceivably manipulate energy on a subatomic level as well," Beast said.

"Really…?" Jubilee said to herself, "…that's what Frost said one time…"

Storm's aura glowed a mighty, majestic sky blue. Lightning sparkled in her eyes. Her skin began to crack. Blood started spouting from her pores.

"Unghh… it… it hurts…" Storm wheezed.

"Oh, God!" Iceman stopped the stream.

No! Don't stop!" Jean yelled.

"It's killing her!" Iceman shouted.

"Trust me!" Jean said.

Iceman gulped down the lump in his throat and resumed his concentrated stream of elemental energy supercharging Storm.

Jean telekinetically enshrouded Storm's body.

"Keep fighting, Storm! I'm holding your cellular structure together!" Jean said.

"Sister…! I… I am frightened…!" Storm said.

"I know how it feels, but it is your time to become an Omega Mutant," Jean said.

"AAAARRRRGHHH!" Storm grunted.

Her body exploded with light and energy. It dispersed Exodus' beam and knocked him ten feet back.

"GAAAHHH!" Exodus writhed.

Storm crackled with luminous blue and white energy. She descended onto the rooftop face to face with Exodus.

"I summon the full force of the elements! Drive this intruder from our home!" Storm said.

A wave of piercing elemental energy erupted from her body and charged at Exodus. Storm dropped to the ground and passed out.

"UNGGGHHH!" Exodus grunted.

He teleported seconds before the energy wave connected.

"… I will *cough cough* not… be… stopped!" Exodus appeared overhead.

The energy wave whooshed forward and headed straight for Jubilee. Bishop rushed in front of her.

"You can't absorb all that!" Jubilee shouted.

"Watch me!" Bishop shouted.

Jubilee whipped her head side to side. Her hair was sopping wet with sweat.

"Here goes nothing…!" Jubilee reached her arms out.

She shut her eyes and focused. Focused as if the energy wave was one of her plasma bombs. She could manipulate those. Just like Beast said. Manipulate energy.

Her legs rattled. Her arms wobbled. The force and gravity of the energy wave blew her hair back like she was speeding a hundred miles per hour.

"AAAHHHH!" Jubilee screamed as she held her stance.

The energy wave hit Bishop. But Jubilee slowed its trajectory. Slowed it enough for Bishop to absorb it bit by bit.

"GRRRRRRRR!" Bishop went to a knee.

His shirt melted. His skin roasted. But he absorbed the wave until red energy popped from his eyes and off his flesh.

Bishop took a deep breath.

"GAAAAAAHHHHH!" Bishop howled.

He unleashed all the absorbed energy back in the sky two-fold. The searing beam engulfed Exodus and obliterated him into vapor and ash.

"NNNNEAAAAARRRRRRRGHHHH!" Exodus screamed until the echo was all that was left of the man.

Bishop collapsed. Steam sizzled off his charred chest.

The Mansion plummeted from the sky like a cut elevator.

"No!" Jean yelled.

She telekinetically grabbed the Mansion. All eighty tons going against gravity.

"C'mon, baby…" Jean said.

The Mansion rattled. Bricks and chunks of the walls broke off. But Jean gently eased the Mansion back down to the estate grounds.

Charles pulled himself over to Storm. She had yet to move. Blood drained out her ears and nose.

"She's going into a coma, we must get her to the infirmary immediately!" Charles shouted.

"The infirmary was demolished in the cave-in!" Beast said.

Charles checked her anemic pulse.

"Henry! We must act now!" Charles said.

 **The End**

 **To be continued…**


	31. Chapter 31

**Epilogue: Stryfe's Files**

1\. **Magneto** : The X-Men's oldest and greatest foe. Worshiped as a messiah by his Acolytes, Magneto was once driven to prove his way was the only way to ensure the survival of the mutant race. Time has perhaps weathered the man. He may never admit it, but has he lost faith in his own methodology? Now he plots only one goal above Earth's orbit in his newly remade Avalon citadel. To prove to Charles Xavier that the X-Men's way will never work either. Misery loves company.

2\. **Mr. Sinister** : The duplicitous geneticist on a collision course of war against Apocalypse and his forces. I am uncertain of my feelings on Essex. Of all my supposed fathers, I feel he is the only one that wanted me. What man would I have grown to be had I been in Essex's care all my life? He celebrates those like me. Grown from the rib of another. I can only imagine the man I might have been. But our history precludes that…

3\. **Apocalypse** : En Sabah Nur. The self-styled Missing Link between Man and Mutant, locked in a Cold War with Sinister for decades. The machinations of those in the shadows lead me to believe the inevitable war between these two shall come to pass sooner rather than later. Another of my supposed fathers. He cursed and disowned me, his _son_ , when he learned I was not perfect. I will take that to my grave. And so will you.

4\. **Inner Circle** : A secret society within the Hellfire Club of prominent mutants seeking to steer the course of civilization, amass power, and, above all else, entertain themselves. Led by Black King, Sebastian Shaw; White Bishop, Donald Pierce; Black Bishop, Harry Leland; White Rook, Jason Wyngarde; Black Queen, Selene; and White Queen, Madelyne Pryor… mother. My poor mother… My poor, weak, stupid mother… How could she let my father throw her away and abuse her like that? How could she just stand by and let him give me away? Why couldn't you protect me? And now she is allied with the Inner Circle and involved with Mastermind. They orchestrated the Morlocks terrorist attack in Manhattan by pulling their strings. Feeding them information about self-hating mutants. But it is Shaw's nanite mutant suppressing technology that made the difference for the X-Men against Exodus. I am inclined to believe this is only the tip of their iceberg.

5\. **The Order of Ages** : A clandestine alliance of Holocaust, Dark Beast, and the Sugar Man, working in the shadows. The three are refugees from a parallel universe in which Apocalypse is supreme ruler. They are a doomsday cult determined to trigger a series of events to collapse society and usher in a brutal world where the strongest mutants dominate the rest. A world symmetrical to the one they came from. Akin to the future I was raised in. They believe the premature death of Charles Xavier in their universe catalyzed Apocalypse's reign, and that a similar event will induce it in this world. That event? The release of X-Nihilo.

6\. **X-Nihilo** : Even I know little of the (Man? Woman?) entity known as X-Nihilo. From what I gather, during Mr. Sinister's tenure as Horsman of Apocalypse, Sinister was tasked with genetically engineering a creature of immeasurable power. One that would be the Missing Link between Mutant and Celestial, as Apocalypse considers himself the Missing Link between Man and Mutant. However, when Sinister learned his master's intent to use X-Nihilo to endlessly destroy, rather than create and sculpt new life, Sinister deceived Apocalypse, and informed him X-Nihilo lacked the Darwinian fitness to survive. He derided X-Nihilo for being too weak to accommodate all its mutant and celestial powers. Apocalypse disavowed X-Nihilo for not being fit, and Sinister buried X-Nihilo in a dormant state. Due to Dark Beast's extensive dealings with Sinister in his alternate universe, Dark Beast learned of X-Nihilo and where he was hidden. It is the Order of Ages' belief that releasing X-Nihilo in this world will finally trigger all-out war between Apocalypse and Sinister. Apocalypse will not accept being deceived by Sinister, and will declare war when he learns the truth about X-Nihilo. The Order of Ages believes that all that will be left in the aftermath of war is a lawless, decimated world no different than the one they came from. And thrive in.

7\. **Bella Donna** : Leader of the Assassin's Guild and estranged wife of the X-Man Gambit. A sympathetic soul. She was left and forgotten by her husband. But his greatest crime came later. When Candra gave her the Life Elixir, Bella Donna's memories were gone. Sinister offered to restore Bella Donna's memories for Gambit, in exchange for Gambit simply carrying out his original contract with Sinister. Be a mole in the X-Men. But he couldn't even do that. After all he did to her, he could not even sacrifice his group of fake friends to give his wife her life back. Bella Donna alleges her memories slowly returned over time. I know the truth. Sinister always likes to have leverage. Despite Gambit's rejection of his offer, Sinister retrieved her lost memories anyway. With the expectation that should he ever truly need Gambit's services, Sinister has a bargaining chip. If Gambit denies Sinister again, he can threaten to take Bella Donna's memories right back. Even then, I fear Sinister may overestimate Gambit's sentimentality and heart.

8\. **Sauron** : The man who transforms into a demon. Quite the opposite to the X-Man, Nightcrawler, the demon who believes he is a man. The naïve Mr. Wagner sees a kindred spirit in Mr. Lykos and his struggles with maintaining his humanity. It is a constant battle Wagner knows well. But how far is the Nightcrawler willing to go into his own dark side in order to pull Sauron out of his?

9\. **Sabretooth** : The one true Victor Creed hunts the X-Man Wolverine on his birthday every year. My research shows that this Creed referred to Wolverine during the Morlock Massacre as "Old Son." Interesting. What will be the outcome when Wolverine hunts Sabretooth on the third Sunday in June?

 **10.** **The Marauders:** Sinister's elite mercenary unit. Led by vengeful former X-Man, Maggot, and comprised of Vertigo, Ruckus, Arclight, Blockbuster, Harpoon, Malice, Prism, Riptide, Scalphunter, and Scrambler.

11\. **Acolytes** : Magneto's fanatical apostles. Led by the wise Amelia Vought, they are comprised of Unuscione, Spoor, Senyaka, Scanner, Neophyte, Milan, Mellencamp, Kleinstock Brothers, Frenzy, Javitz, and Katu.

12\. **Four Horsemen** : Apocalypse's indoctrinated generals. Unlike previous incarnations, these Horsemen retain a significant degree of autonomy and personal identity. Their preexisting hatreds and personal agendas only serve to make them more dangerous. Each Horseman possessed vast, largely untapped powers that have only grown under Apocalypse's conditioning. War: Vulcan. Death: Dakken. Pestilence: Adam-X. Famine: Sage.

13\. **Deathbird** : The disregarded sister of Empress Lilandra. A terrible thing her life has been. Overlooked by her family and ousted by her people. I can imagine the pain and hurt in those eyes. But she has persevered. She now leads the pejoratively dubbed Deviants, a rebellious clan of genetically defective Shi'ar that greatly resemble the Avian Shi'ar ancestor species. The Deviants are typically euthanized at birth due to their genetic inferiority. But those that survive to adulthood have banded together under Deathbird's tactical guidance and revolted against the Empress. When Lilandra calls upon her friends, the X-Men, to quietly aid in quelling the rebellion, the X-Men must consider their role in subjugating these genetic deviants. Bishop especially, must confront his unresolved love for Deathbird. As must she. Should the X-Men help the rebels, they may revoke the longstanding amnesty for Earth from the Shi'ar imperium and colonization.

14\. **Nereel and Peter** : The Savage Land mother of Peter Rasputin's child, Peter. What reasons did she have for lying to Rasputin about the child? And what is the depth of the boy's lurid obsession with Shadowcat?

15\. **The Purifiers** : A global organization of religious fanatics under the leadership of Reverend William Stryker. The X-Man Shadowcat has a visceral disdain for the Purifiers. She is adamant mutants be accepted by all. But is her zeal to force her values on others so different from Stryker's?

16\. **Phalanx** : An intergalactic, race of techno-organic, shapeshifting creatures, led by Cameron Hodge. Their goal of mass assimilation has twice been thwarted by the X-Men, once on Earth, once in Shi'ar space. But who does one contain an enemy that only serves to grow stronger and more resilient after each conflict?

17\. **Lady Deathstrike and the Reavers** : Deathstrike is a proud, disciplined warrior backed by ruthless mercenaries. Her focus and training represents everything the X-Man Jubilee could be. And isn't.

18\. **Morlocks** : Sewer dwelling, unaesthetic tribe of mutants ruled by a triumvirate of Marrow, Callisto, and Healer. With their recent defeat and arrest in Manhattan by the Red Team, their chain of command has been broken. Desperate for guidance, the remaining Morlocks are determined to make their former leader, Storm, help them free Marrow, Callisto, and Healer. By force if necessary. What the Morlocks do not know, is that following the X-Men's battle with Exodus, Storm currently remains in a coma.

19\. **Kid Omega** : The Omega Mutant prodigy. Quentin Quire is the inverse of perennial underachiever, Iceman. Quire has already accomplished more with his mutant abilities than Robert Drake most likely ever will. And Quire, among other agendas, intends to make sure Drake appreciates that fact.

20\. **The Brood** : A hive-minded, parasitic species of vicious insectoid creatures. My sleeper agents in the US, UK, Russian, and North Korean governments, agents with enhanced mutant hearing and x-ray vision, tell me they see and hear the feintest rumblings of gestating eggs buried inside various, influential officials.

21\. **Perfect Storm** : When Nanny de-aged Ororo Monroe, she did not so much de-age her as she did split Storm into an adolescent and a blank adult form. The adolescent form was re-aged. But what devices has the adult form, calling herself Perfect Storm now, been up to all this time in Wakanda?

22\. **Fenris** : A multinational crime syndicate led by German twins Andrea and Andreas Von Strucker, aided by mercenaries Black Tom Cassidy, the Juggernaut, Johnny Arcade, and the X-Cutioner. Originally driven to avenge their father, the Strucker twins have assembled an array of assassins to carve out their own legacy as Von Struckers to surpass, and thereby honor, their father.

23\. **The Upstarts** : A cabal of the Machiavellian Fabian Cortez, ambitious Trevor Fitzroy, and charismatic Shinobi Shaw, headed by the enigmatic Gamesmaster. They are entwined in a game of points awarded for accomplishing a sprawling checklist of objectives, set forth by Gamesmaster, with the winner granted eternal life. Each man has their motivations for the game. Cortez enjoys the art and thrill of deception. He would do it for free. Fitzroy, the lust for power. And Shaw, the spoils of wealth, women, and luxury. Their dangerous game has already restarted, with Cortez in the lead for successfully manipulating the X-Men into freeing him in Chile. I wonder where and in what fashion the other two members of the game will strike. Maybe they already have.

24\. **Onslaught** : The combined psyche of Erik Lehnsherr and Charles Xavier. A being that exists only to pervert Xavier's rational hopes and dreams into hedonistic, repressed desires. I am not entirely surprised by Onslaught's willingness to help Xavier during the X-Men's battle with Exodus. Nor Xavier's willingness to reawaken Onslaught. They are as much linked as the sun to the moon. Xavier is so far divorced from his emotional needs that his id has essentially come to life to torment him. There is very much left unsaid between Xavier and his students. Honest words he wishes he could say. Onslaught intends to say them for Xavier.

25\. **Legion** : David Haller, the infinitely powerful son of Charles Xavier. I am sympathetic to this one. A helpless boy abandoned… forgotten by his father. And replaced… By _my_ father. It sickens me to see the pride in Xavier's eyes for my father. He is not your son! You have a son, old man! The one you were never there for! It is no wonder my father gave me up… He learned from you Xavier. He learned from you. If I was you David, no matter how far you think, or would like to think, you've come in your psychotherapy, it would infuriate me to see the paternal bond between your father and my father.

26\. **Xorn** : Kuan-Yin Xorn. A misguided, perhaps tragic mutant healer with a sun trapped in an iron mask. After befriending the X-Men three years ago, Xorn's body was appropriated by the Scarlet Witch who, at the time, suffered from a dissociative breakdown. She subconsciously remodeled Xorn in a twisted image of her father due to Xorn's anonymity and proximity to her father's greatest friend and rival, Charles Xavier. A part of her wanted to see her father fail and die. Following his revival by the Collective, Xorn seeks to return to his only reference of fulfillment and joy. Healing others. However, as I have watched Kuan Yin Xorn attempt to navigate this frightening new world, I see he is at a point of realization. One we all must confront. Sometimes… all a person can do to heal another is to take the pain away. And as Xorn is learning, the greatest pain is living.

27\. **The Adversary** : The Great Trickster. A demon at one time sealed in another dimension by the sacrifice of nine souls. The X-Men, and Roma herself, believed that sacrifice to be completed in Dallas. That was the greatest trick of all. Those souls are pledged forever to the demon. To be redeemed when he so pleases.

28\. **Omega Red** : A man without a country. Not unlike Peter Rasputin. But why has the loss of the USSR crushed Arkady and his sense of self, but not Rasputin? Either Rasputin was never a true patriot, or he has not suffered enough. It is a question Arkady will go to any lengths to answer.

29\. **Cassandra Nova** : The unborn twin of Charles Xavier. Of all Xavier's repressed desires, one of the most enduring is to kill Nova. A desire Xavier would never act on. Onslaught, conversely, would. And so would Nova. Be it Onslaught. Charles. Or her favorite plaything. Mccoy.

30\. **Shadow King** : Amahl Farouk. A brilliant telepath and sadist. He is fascinated by the X-Man Psylocke's increasingly violent nature. She has been almost as many people as he has. And it has rendered her cold. Numb. Impatient. Violence is her only outlet. The only thing she can control is how hard she hits. But he is an opponent that cannot be punched or kicked into submission. Much like the multitude of problems bubbling beneath the surface of Ms. Braddock.

31\. **Brotherhood of Evil Mutants** : A genocidal terrorist cell led by Mystique and her lover, Destiny, comprised of Avalanche, Blob, Pyro, and Toad.

32\. **Stepford** **Cuckoos** : Three telepathic, prescient clones of Emma Frost, driven by obsession to punish the White Queen for her negligence in their sisters' deaths.

33\. **Bastion** : The former Nimrod and Master Mold, Bastion has regained his ability to morph into the relentless killing machine, Nimrod, in addition to his position as humanity's stalwart contractor for Prime Sentinel defense technology.

34\. **Red Team:** X-Men field team based in San Francisco at Utopia: Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters. Members: Cyclops, Phoenix, Gambit, Rogue, Psylocke. Graduate Students: the New X-Men: Armor, Blindfold, X-23, Pixie, Hope, Bling, Anole, Rockslide, Hellion, Elixir, and Dust.

 **35.** **Gold Team:** X-Men field team based in Westchester, NY at the Xavier Insttitute for Gifted Youngsters. Members: Storm, Wolverine, Shadowcat, Colossus, Nightcrawler. Graduate Students: New Mutants: Cannonball, Dani Moonstar, Mirage, Sunspot, Wolfsbane, Magik, Warlock, and Magma.

 **36.** **Blue Team:** X-Men field team based in Massachusetts, at the Xavier Institute for Higher Learning. Members: Bishop, White Queen, Beast, Archangel, Iceman, and Jubilee. Graduate Students: Generation X: Synch, Skin, Chamber, Husk, Mondo, M, Penance.

37\. **Stryfe** : And that leaves me, father. Don't worry. You are not the only one cursed to see everything in red. We shall have a reunion very soon, father. You. Me. And mother. And we'll see who abandons who.


End file.
